#so like. he used she/her for me because. those r my pronouns? and the other person kept using they/them which. fine whatever it’s fine

[sundrop-writes]

BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless. 

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless. 

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least. 

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life. 

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long. 

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.  

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman. 

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy. 

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them. 

That night, you had become his hero. 

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections. 

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so. 

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship. 

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature. 

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy. 

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms. 

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack. 

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you. 

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you. 

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway. 

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you. 

He tried not to act like it. 

But on nights like this, it was just so hard. 

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade. 

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison. 

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’. 

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade. 

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you. 

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time. 

Again - he was hopeless. 

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes. 

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin. 

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him. 

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch. 

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.) 

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites. 

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried. 

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it. 

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns. 

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-” 

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet. 

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying. 

“Y/N, uh-” 

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat. 

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.” 

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!” 

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him. 

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding. 

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand. 

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically. 

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued. 

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.” 

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen. 

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep. 

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.” 

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place. 

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration. 

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.” 

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench. 

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries. 

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you. 

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter. 

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again. 

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter. 

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead. 

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke. 

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds. 

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly. 

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock. 

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too. 

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste. 

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him. 

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed. 

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.) 

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch. 

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment. 

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual. 

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day. 

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet. 

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.) 

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. 

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice. 

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years? 

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers. 

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day. 

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.” 

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out. 

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments. 

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him. 

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration. 

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!” 

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why. 

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh. 

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?” 

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret. 

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot. 

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies. 

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count. 

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock. 

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt. 

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front? 

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home. 

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him. 

… 

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged. 

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you. 

His little secret piece of you. 

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis. 

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild. 

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for. 

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle. 

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him. 

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain. 

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game. 

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win. 

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this. 

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real. 

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out: 

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.” 

And what else could he do but obey? 

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on. 

He was a man of simple, divine tastes. 

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric. 

“Stiles, please.” 

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life. 

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers. 

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in. 

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain. 

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work. 

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you. 

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties. 

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask: 

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?” 

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh. 

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.) 

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say: 

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.” 

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm. 

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now. 

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state. 

Though he knew that would never fucking happen. 

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though. 

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow. 

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like. 

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone. 

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole. 

But what would they smell like? 

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him. 

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination. 

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you. 

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live. 

He could always imagine the other aspects so well. 

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness. 

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. 

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness. 

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too. 

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you. 

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out. 

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.” 

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly. 

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock. 

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.” 

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer. 

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.” 

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind. 

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it: 

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do. 

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.” 

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy. 

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-” 

“Cum for me, Stiles.” 

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him. 

Fuck. He had fucked up. 

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition. 

… 

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean. 

The only problem? 

Hang to dry. 

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition. 

… 

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early. 

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.” 

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn. 

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today. 

Focus, Stiles. Focus. 

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him. 

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why? 

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke. 

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought. 

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole. 

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences. 

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him. 

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find. 

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.” 

Stiles groaned.

...

Due to much pressure, not the sequel has been posted. I am fully of the belief that this fic is complete and perfect on its own, but if you would like to keep reading, click on the link below. I highly encourage you to leave a comment before you press on, though, and tell me what you enjoyed about this fic since you have gotten this far.

Happy reading!

Keeping Reading Here: Stupid For You - Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

[virginreprise]

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" MY MEAN DADDY, MY BAD BABY, DON'T YOU WANT ME? " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

CHAPTER ONE

WARNINGS: age difference (although no age is mentioned), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel is still a sad old man, joel being mean again, smut, references to harassment (not from joel), literal sex, breathplay, oral (f receiving), although joel may get some head in the future if he's lucky, you're more important than him, two uses of daddy, just because joel is disgusting and i wanna test the waters before i fully commit to my depraved fantasies of calling a grown man daddy, joel no aftercare miller because he's lowk a little asshole who's afraid of women, pussy pronouns because i feel like that's joel's brand atp

WORD COUNT: 14.6k

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER TWO—PRETTY BABY

Joel had cowered in his trailer for two weeks, acting like the recluse he was at heart, avoiding interactions with others, communicating with grunts and murmurs and looks that made sure anyone who dared speak to him in any way that could’ve been perceived as “cheery” would be off his back and turn the other way. 

He hadn’t been rattled by the conversation he’d had with you, nor had he been left feeling some ridiculous guilt just because he’d got in your face and made those pretty features contort in fear. No, he had purely been pissed off with you. You thought you’d hit the nail on the head with your analysis, that you knew anything about him at all. And when you’d asked him if he was okay…well, after that, most of his restraint had been lost. 

Storming off like a petulant child was better than hurting you so badly he’d never get a taste of your sweet cunt just once. After thinking about it, it was better that he’d walked away when he did, simply because it gave him the ability to get his head straight again, shake off some of the rage, and channel the rest into fucking you until you cried. 

Before, he would’ve never been so volatile with you, would’ve never even thought about fucking you at all. He’d fix what you wanted fixed, he’d smile at you and call you “Ma’am,” like a sociable, pleasant old man. Not the sad sack of shit he’d turned into it. So angry all the time for reasons he refused to unpack. If he acknowledged it, he’d have to acknowledge that she would’ve hated what he turned out to be. 

You were younger than what she would be if she were alive today. Would it have made her feel sick? Would it have made her run away from him, unable to recognise the man she’d called dad? 

In part, it was the reason why he’d banished you. Not in the moment. No, in the moment he’d wanted to choke you. But some subconscious part of him, some ghost of compassion had possessed him and he’d thought about her eyes, how scared she’d looked as he’d held her and how similar you had looked when he’d raised his voice, when he’d kept it quiet, all menace and intimidation, when he’d touched you, gripping onto your thigh—when he’d looked desperately into your eyes and hoped that you’d crack a smile. That you’d stop looking at him like he was the fucking devil. 

You really were something else, something so ridiculously dissimilar to himself, better than himself in every conceivable way, and yet simultaneously aggravating because you wouldn’t stay away from him. Every single time, you kept crawling back like you had no other choice. Like Rick across the way wasn’t a better plumber than Joel was and would’ve fixed your stupid tap permanently for free. 

He wasn’t blind or oblivious to your efforts. He’d called your bluff a long time ago, when you’d come skipping along and bat your eyelashes at him, acting like the most innocent little thing in the state of Texas, not knowing that Joel had seen you tripping over your feet at night with a cigarette in your hand, circling the park again and again and again, worrying at your bottom lip. Or when you’d kicked over your bike in frustration because the chain kept falling off or when you’d got in Linda’s face at the Fourth of July barbecue because she’d been whispering amongst the trailer park's entire female population that you were a whore. 

Joel had laughed to himself when the rumour had found him—had laughed even harder when you’d defended yourself, thrown your coke all over the fucking gossip and stormed off, only to knock on his door later that day to give him his mail that had made its way into your letterbox, a pretty little smile on your face and a sweetness to your voice that hadn’t found its way into your tone the day before. 

There was a fierceness to you, a deep-cut vision like a B-side from a beautifully crafted album, the scraps just as brilliant as the first choice. Under all those pretty smiles, was anger, a knack for getting what you wanted with a few shouts and a quick tongue. He’d seen it when you’d misread him, called him a pervert with puffed-out cheeks and left Joel with a suspicion that you would start stomping your feet and smoke would pour from your ears. However, unlike your confrontation with Linda, you’d cowered when he’d fought back. Part of him had hoped you’d keep going, that even when he’d scared you, you’d push through fear and slap him across the face. 

Maybe it’d bring back his sense. 

Maybe he’d slap you instead, make you give him some fire. Anything that he can use against you to reign you in. 

Joel had no interest in hurting you though. Simultaneously, he had no interest in keeping you safe from what he knew he truly was. If that led to hurt, it was unintentional. You weren’t a schoolboy crush, nor was the situation love at first sight, but you were interesting to Joel; he wanted to get to know you. There was something there, something repressed that you kept locked away, that only came out to pounce on you when you were alone in the middle of the night. 

The only issue was that if he had to get to know you, that meant you’d have to get to know him too. Joel’s history was something he wasn’t prepared to let go of, an incomplete manuscript that couldn’t be edited, that was full of flaws and bad decisions. He wouldn’t let you open it, wouldn’t let you peer at the front cover or skim the spine with your finger: it was guarded by tendrils of barbed wire, pushing through the clouds and up past the stratosphere. It would be difficult to damage it, damn near impossible to break the fortification entirely. 

So, naturally, Joel left you alone. He didn’t look at you in the mornings, didn’t peer through the windows at night and in turn, you left him alone too. Though nowadays there was a sag in your shoulders, a frown constantly tugging at your lips and he felt a certain sense of pride that he was the reason for it. He didn’t need to ask you, he knew. Could tell by the way you avoided eye contact when he’d driven back from the store (he’d been low on Camel’s) and saw you sat on your steps, puffing away and gnawing on your bottom lip. 

It was petty, the way you’d turned away immediately upon hearing the sound of his engine, stubbed out the cigarette and stormed back inside. 

Joel didn’t mind all too much. You were bratty and he liked it—enjoyed when you spoke back like he wouldn’t be able to knock you out with one weak punch. 

It had been a surprise when you’d turned up on his doorstep on a Friday night, all dressed up, makeup you’d clearly worked hard on, ruined by your streaming tears. 

“I’m sorry,” you’d blubbered, shaking like a leaf on his porch and he wasn’t sure if it was the chill of the night air or fear. “I know you don’t want me here.” 

Then why show up? It’s what he wanted to say but he bit his tongue to save you from collapsing from dehydration. All those tears you were coughing up like there was a free supply of them behind those pretty eyes—eyes now red raw and bloodshot. 

“What’s the issue?” he asked, less soft than you perhaps would’ve liked. He couldn’t give too much attention to it, though: the concern he felt buried underneath layers upon layers of tough exterior; even your flood of tears couldn’t wash away the rubble to find it. 

“I-I was out, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, t-this- this guy he…” 

Right there, Joel’s blood burned bright fucking red. He’d felt it with Dale when he’d seen the old man drooling after you like a rabid dog, eating away at your ankles—just begging for a taste. He’d scared the man shitless when he’d grabbed him by the collar once he was out of your eyeline, yanked him along to the outskirts of the park and spat in his face. The only reason he didn’t beat him bloody was because it would’ve been unnecessary and Joel had been sober that night so had been thinking at least a little rationally. 

But this guy…whoever the fuck he was, hadn’t just made you uncomfortable, but had made you come to Joel Miller for comfort. Had forced your hand, had caused you to swim into the shark's mouth. Perhaps, worst of all, he’d made you cry—big, hot, glistening tears that travelled sporadically in all directions across the expanse of your face, dripping from your jaw and settling in your clavicle. 

“What’d he do?” Joel was intimidatingly calm, voice even and eyes sharp. 

You sniffled, lip quivering and your mouth opened to speak, then closed as if the words had gotten stuck—that the force of your pain overpowered your ability to be coherent. 

“Baby…” Joel murmured, unable to stifle the smile that twitched and fell when you snapped your eyes to his—hopeful with the promise of the nickname. “Tell me.” 

Taking a deep breath, you swallowed away the thickness in your throat, tried to stop the shaking by playing with your fingers, lips downturned and looking like such a scared little lamb. Despite being a wolf, Joel managed to set aside his natural tendencies, tucking them away safely for whoever the fucker you were crying over was, and instinctually, wanting to keep you safe. 

“I was all by myself, I shouldn’t have gone by myself,” you looked away from him like Joel would judge you—like he would think it was your fault. He wanted to say something but waited patiently for you to continue, wondering when would be the best time to invite you in. If he even should invite you in given the implications of the statement and what he had done the last time you’d stepped through the boundary separating the inside of his trailer from the outside. “He wouldn’t stop touching me, I tried to get him off but he wouldn’t leave me alone and I- I got out of there when he wasn’t watching but he fucking followed me home-” 

“Where is he?” It was instant, the way Joel snapped into action, fists clenching—prepared to fall right onto his face and break his fucking nose. 

“I- I don’t know,” you muttered. “I just came to you.” 

Unsure of how to react to the information, he scanned the area behind you, taking a singular look at your trailer and deciding that he could not, in good conscience leave you alone. Having a good conscience in the first place had been a foreign thing to Joel for such a long time that the feeling of wanting to do something right, the knowledge that he was not inviting you in because he wanted to touch you but because he wanted to protect you, was a troubling thing to realise. He couldn’t afford to go soft, to let people in, to hold them close until he inevitably told them everything and they realised how much of a bad person he was. But with you…it hardly mattered. 

“Okay, babygirl.” His hands twitched towards your face, both palms landing on either cheek—so natural that it should’ve scared him. “Come on, let’s get you warm.” 

Stray tears fell at his affection and he couldn’t bear to look at you crying anymore so guided you inside, letting you occupy his space, and took one last look outside before closing the door behind him—locking you both away.

It was when he’d called you babygirl, that you knew you’d fallen deep. The entire purpose of going out that night had been to forget about him, find someone else who maybe had that same smouldering look in his eyes, that same mystery that rendered every single movement an enigma. It’d been useless of course and you’d been harshly reminded of why you never went out in the first place, certainly not by yourself and certainly not to hook up with a stranger. The ache was just so very large, all-encompassing and you struggled immensely with the silent treatment he’d inflicted upon you. 

You’d be lying if you said it was much different from before. Lack of conversation between Joel and yourself was in fact extremely common but the context in which the communication had haltered, the undeniable tension that permeated every accidental look and every longing stare at that white door in the middle of the night, was a pain you would never admit to him. 

You didn’t want him to think you were weak, that you needed him in any capacity, so you’d got out. You’d ran away from him and in a cruel twist of fate, you’d crawled right back—crying on the doorstep and looking more pathetic than you think he’d ever seen you. 

However, he’d held your face in his hands, gazed at you with something akin to pity and you wouldn’t have left him even if he’d asked you to.

You’d shuffled into his home, rubbing at your bare arms and staring at Joel’s back as he reached into the cupboards for a glass. You wanted to bury your face into him, wrap your arms around his waist and drag him close. The cold sting on your cheeks from where he’d touched you, the echo of his words in your ears wasn’t enough. You wanted him near, wanted to bury your head between his chest and beg him to tell you that you were safe. 

“Drink.” His words snapped you back, eyes stinging as they flitted to his face and then to the glass he was holding. 

“Thanks,” you muttered softly as you reached for the water, fingers brushing against his a sensation you attempted to ignore. After a moment standing, eyes fixated on his shoes and mulling over the situation, you apologised again. The “Sorry” falling from your mouth, the feeling of stupidity as the tears finally began to subside, and Joel’s gentle touch as he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger: delicate and affectionate. From the outside looking in, it would seem like a man simply comforting his girl with firm words and soft fingers. 

“Don’t apologise. It ain’t your fault.” His gaze was set, those gorgeous eyes still hard and stony, fixated on you—hoping to bury the words beneath your skull. 

“I just don’t wanna bother you-” 

“I ain’t got nothin’ better to do.” There was a hint of a smile at his lips but it didn’t reach his eyes, corners of his mouth twitching, looking like the action itself was painful—like the words he uttered echoed in his ears and bashed at his eardrum. Maybe he should have something better to do than sit around and look after you.

You furrowed your brow at his expression, looking just as pained as he did and sipped your water—throat finally feeling some reprieve from the scratches that littered the flesh. His hand fell from your chin, resting at his side and you couldn’t shake the burning in your stomach as he refused to cease the eye contact so you did it for him, eyes firmly on the linoleum and teeth sinking into your bottom lip. 

He probably didn’t want you here—surely he didn’t. He’d spent the past two weeks ignoring you, refusing to acknowledge the conversation you’d had the other night, when you’d felt everything brew up inside you and finally boil over. When you’d thrust a finger in his face and pointed out every flaw and every observation. Everything that Joel Miller was. 

That solemn, brooding solace you found being close to a personality that reminded you of days long past. The intimidation that he used like a shield, strengthening his defences after people tried to get inside his walls; he’d shot them down with arrows, leaving the bullets in his palm for himself. You though…he’d let you in. He’d shot at your shoulder then let you past the gates to dress the wound. 

“Might wanna wash your face,” he said grimly, brushing past you to go sit on his leather throne. 

You gazed at your reflection in the window above the sink, light from the ceiling flooding you in a spotlight and illuminating the streaming makeup, the blotchy face and the red eyes. Suddenly conscious, you snapped your head back to him, his back turned to you, working at the TV with a steady hand. 

Sensing your eyes, the stare that burned through him—full of pity and understanding—he muttered, “Bathrooms first door on the right.” Trying to get rid of you. 

Wanting to ensure he was comfortable in his own home, you placed your glass on the counter, turned on your heel and began down the hallway—stopping at the first and only door on the right-hand side and slipped inside. You wanted to shower but knew it was a step too far, that that would be taking his hospitality for granted, so you settled for the sink. 

Makeup was crusting along your skin, forcing its way into your pores and mingling with the sweat and dirt from the long walk you took from the centre of town. Hastily, you turned on the tap, cupping your hands under the stream and splashing it over your face. You sat with it for a moment, with the cool droplets running down your face and soothing the stinging of your eyes before scrubbing—wanting it all off. It felt wrong along your skin, the crusted tears near your eyes painful as you washed them away. It was effort, with just the water, but when you rose from the sink basin with a fresh face, you felt better. 

You were safe with Joel, that much you were sure.

You took a deep breath before retreating from the solidarity of the bathroom, door handle cool under your palm as you inhaled, held, and exhaled. With the dispelling of that cool air, you pushed, stepping out into the hallway and hearing the faint sound of late-night television coming from down the way. 

Joel was still sat where you’d left him, putting his cigarette out and discarding it inside an empty beer bottle, eyes fixated on the TV and although it looked like he hadn’t heard you, you knew he had. That subtle tensing of his shoulders, shuffling in his seat as he cracked his neck distractedly. You stood there, looking at the back of his head for far too long, lingering in the shadowed hallway and hoping he’d turn around and look at you—grant you that deep gaze that held so much. So many words said with just one glance. 

But he didn’t. He stayed exactly where he was, nestled in his corner of the world. 

You went to him on shaky legs, entering his living space with short breaths, playing with your fingers as you stopped just in front of where he sat. 

“Thanks for-” you began, stopping yourself when you heard the crack in your voice—how hard it was to speak with the heaviness of your eyes and the hoarseness of your throat. Managing to swallow away some of it, some of that pent-up misery you felt clawing its way up the passages of your insides, you uttered quietly,” Just…thank you.” 

“Yeah,” he said back, voice just as pensive as yours; you didn’t know if he wasn’t looking at you purposefully or if he truly was just as nervous about the interaction as you were. The notion that Joel Miller would be nervous at all was laughable but you knew there was something there—something greater than he let everyone think. Curiosity was a big driver in your interactions with the man, a desire to see what he felt, hear every thought that burrowed itself in his head, but right there, your insecurity prevailed and you decided it’d be best if you left him alone. 

“I think I’m gonna go home now,” you said reluctantly, knowing that all you truly wanted to do was crawl into his lap and bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I’m tired.” 

“Okay,” he nodded and as he turned to look at you there was a glint in his eyes—almost begging—that said ‘Don’t go.’ You didn’t want to, you wanted to stay wrapped up in him forever, limbs entangled in feverish desire. But you couldn’t stay. You could barely move in his presence and it wasn’t worth it to be engaged in something that would cripple you forever. 

So you repeated his word, purse hanging loose from your fingertips as you turned your back on him and headed for the front door. 

He halted you before you could get there. 

“If you see him again, even if you hear a noise out there, you come back to me.” There was a care in his voice, a forceful attentiveness that left you reeling. He was letting you go but inviting you back too. He was professing something, expressing words unspoken, with actions and you couldn’t help the way your heart swelled in your chest, your throat constricting as a sob attempted to choke its way into your mouth.

You just nodded, sure that if you spoke you’d end up crying again. 

With no more words left, you opened the front door, stomach twisting as you looked around to check that you were alone, and scurried down his porch steps, not knowing that once Joel had heard your door close, he’d stepped out into the night and placed himself on his shitty white chair—watching the surrounding area until dawn came, ready to deter the danger if it came for you. 

Sunlight shot through the half-open window, the heat stiflingly stagnant, sweat trickling down the back of your neck as you lay, immobile on your bedroom floor—hoping that the dewy grass underneath the trailer would somehow rise up through the ground and relieve you of the suffering that was prevalent whether you were indoors or out. Your shitty fan was rattling in the corner, doing little to alleviate the pain, and in the midst of a Wednesday afternoon, work already completed, you had no other choice than to think about the man next door and his actions. 

There was a gentle acknowledgement, a careful unspoken communication that something, whatever it was, had switched in you and Joel. After that night, that pathetic night when you’d cried on his doorstep, he had not thrust you away as you had expected him to. He had barely even been rude to you, that awful scowl that was perpetual in every sense, stripped from his face. The careful commands, the casual way in which he took care of you. 

The only thing you wished, was that he’d let you stay the night—that even if you had been the one to suggest the departure, he would ignore your wishes and make the decision for you, grab you by the hips and pull you down on top of him. Kiss you on the lips with all the ardour he had stored somewhere deep in the pits of his being. Damn your age, damn the consequences, damn anything that would occur in retaliation. You wanted him. If not for selfish reasons, for an interesting sympathy that you held for him every time he looked in your eyes, every time someone speculated on why he had turned out the way he had. 

The whispering, the wondering, the stories that seemed so elaborate and profound that you couldn’t bring yourself to believe them. The contractor who’d told you of a man named Joel Miller. His fate. What befell him that September when he’d lost everything meaningful to him. 

You didn’t know, however. You didn’t know what was the truth and what was all facade, if Joel had shot down the rumours himself by telling a fabrication of reality to all of those who dared make false assumptions. 

So, you settled with the equivocations, the image of him in your mind expanding until all that remained was a pity that ran through each of your bones, vibrating your insides; the pleasure of his touch was the only sedation. 

Laying there, on the carpeted floors that you wished were wood, you thought of him. You thought of him deeply, throwing your mind back to that first interaction with him when he’d stood in the light of the rising sun, eyes running all over you. Observation. It was something he was good at, being able to discern the very fabrics of the human soul by glancing over at your movements, your mannerisms, taking note of the way you spoke to certain people. You were sure he knew you were smitten from the moment you opened your mouth. 

In truth, you had been completely enamoured by him. Despite those initial reactions to his leering gaze, that sleazy look in his eyes that rendered you disgusted by his very presence, you had mulled over it on those particularly boring shifts, those mundane Sundays when you gazed at the empty white chair on his porch and thought about how handsome he looked sat there: legs spread wide, thumb and finger playing at his furrowed brow, cigarette burning between those pretty fingers and the portable radio next to him expelling a country tune or the occasional Texas Rangers game. 

You fantasised about sitting there with him, fingers curled around his as you lounged in the chair adjacent—always looking like it was waiting for someone to sit in it. For you to sit in it. 

But you weren’t brave enough. You weren’t brave anyway. 

You weren’t brave enough to speak up when you felt like you were caving in on yourself, boulders falling from the tip of your head and landing at your feet—breaking each toe until you couldn’t move, suspended by the sensation of skin melting from your face, your brain losing all rational thought. You weren’t brave enough to do something bigger with your life, to approach every memory that haunted you like an evil phantom, intent on breaking you down into nothing until you sat as dilapidated as the abandoned moonshine still that rested its weary legs just opposite the bypass. 

You weren’t brave enough to tell Joel that you wished to have him completely. That you wished to help him build himself back up; if what was said about him was true, you were willing to ignore all of your demons, to repress them like you had many times over, and place all your energy into making him smile. 

Instead of actively hoping to remedy the situation on your lonesome, to be active with your desires and do everything possible to make them come true, you instead wait for someone else to fulfil them for you. If Joel wasn’t willing to tell you, to confess every depraved fantasy, you’d continue to lay on your bedroom floor and hope for things to be different.

In the sweat of that Wednesday afternoon, in the midst of summer despair, you thought of him. In your bedroom you had not decorated, staring at the ceiling fan that did not work, you thought of him. Through the fog of everything that made up your regrets and your achievements, he remained the central thing that kept you alive. 

A knock on the door brought you back, three raps that came down hard and assured. With a thick head, you peeled yourself off the floor, brushing down flyaway hair that had ran away from your scalp and cracked your back as you stood. 

Just that simple movement had sweat pooling at your lower back, the sun at its highest peak, menacingly bright and dangerously hot. Sniggering as it watched you stumble down the hallway, lethargic with the soupy air and trying your hardest to put a smile on your face as you pulled at the doorknob—a wall of heat separating you from the outside. 

That half-hearted grimace that had replaced your frowning, quickly transformed into an expression littered with confusion as you stared at the man before you. Had you begun thinking about him so much that you’d started to hallucinate him? Had you thought about him so loud that he’d taken the time to knock on your door and tell you to shut up? 

You said nothing as you stared at him, the delirium of the day causing your brain to momentarily stop working—greetings and manners that you’d been taught since you could walk something you gave no attention to. Only able to focus on his broadness hogging the space, the way he stared down at you with a clenched jaw, the perpetual tense of his shoulders and the hardness of his eyes. Just seeing him was enough to send you falling headfirst into a sensation you had no desire to express to him. 

“You okay?” he asked, softer than expected and your heart sank as you looked down at his hands to see the two envelopes nestled between his fingers. He’d come to give you your mail. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled out, lingering too long on the paper before flicking your eyes back to his and gathering yourself, scolding the fact that you couldn’t focus around him. You nodded briefly to what had caused that pit in your stomach to open up again. “That my mail?” 

He nodded in response, handing it out to you with the manner of someone who wished to be away from the situation they were involved in. 

“They keep getting us mixed up,” you said, forcing a smile and trying to make it all as comfortable as possible. “I still think they do it on purpose.” It was a poor attempt at a joke, coercing a conversation so that maybe he’d stay a little longer than intended. You yearned for a little courage, hoping that your mouth would expel the words you wished to speak: invite him in, ask him if he wanted a drink or a cigarette or both, tell him how much you’d been thinking about him. 

“I’ll have a word if I see them.” 

Why was it awkward? It was unusual, the way he wasn’t leering at you, how he wasn’t purposefully overpowering you. It seemed that he was more intimidated by you in that moment than he ever had before in his life. What a strange feeling it was: to have Joel Miller cowering. It gave you some much-needed bravery as you placed the mail on the side table next to your door, near the bowl that held your keys and discarded receipts you hadn’t bothered to throw away. 

When the words came tumbling out of your mouth, you struggled to believe they were real. 

“You wanna come in?” The shaking in your hands as he raised his eyebrows, the doubts hurtling at your chest with all the force of a high-speed collision. “I haven’t got anything else to do all afternoon.” You decided adding a little context would be better—maybe sway him a little more. 

You couldn’t tell if the slight smile toying at those pretty lips was genuine or a courtesy, nor did you know if when he’d accepted your invitation he was doing it just to be polite or because he actually wanted to. 

In your delusions, you told yourself that it was all because he did want you around, that he’d just been playing hard to get all this time because, like you, the thought of letting anyone in was so incredibly daunting. No matter how much you wanted Joel, just the thought of kissing him made you nauseous—the anxiety of what may occur after, the consequences to everything, what he would think when he realised that you weren’t all sweet. That you were awkward and mean at the best of times; the way you’d presented yourself to him was not your true character. 

You feared that after everything, he would decide he didn’t like you. That you weren’t worth his time. From the things you’d heard about him, you weren’t even sure he’d let you stick around long enough to figure out what you were truly like. 

As he walked into your home though, nothing in his hands to suggest that he was only here to do some light maintenance and be on his way, you couldn’t think about that. You were no longer on your bedroom floor, begging God for things to be different. Things were becoming different, and when you offered him a drink, assuring him that he could smoke inside despite never doing it yourself without hanging halfway out your window, you found yourself becoming comfortable. Too comfortable honestly. 

He settled himself on your couch, hips rising as he reached into his pocket to pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a scratched-to-shit silver zippo and shook his head at your offer of coffee. You nestled yourself a respectable distance from him—tucking your legs underneath you and watched as he brought the light to the dangling stick and lit it. A cloud of smoke muffled his face, the scent of tobacco tickling your nose and bringing comfort sliding down your spine. 

It was silent, in the most blissful way, the heat blushing his cheeks, the loving caress of the setting sun as it promised to fall beneath the horizon as soon as it could—that its day of evil heat was slowly falling away. The light breeze that trickled through your open window, taking the smoke away with it, guiding it up towards the sun and stars. Cicadas chirping, birds coming to and from their nests, searching for some good food to bring home to their babies, and snakes burrowed in the shade to escape the searing heat. All of nature's beauty peeking its head past the haze of despondency just to enlighten you and Joel—to help you feel greater than you had just five minutes ago. 

It helped clear your thick head, helped escape the thin veil of your body's disparagement to get to a point where you could focus on Joel and only Joel. Watch him take a drag and exhale, chest rising and falling. 

When his head rolled backwards, resting on the edge of your couch and revealing each tendon in his neck, you finally decided to open your mouth. 

“Thank you for the other night.” The words fell quietly, whispered to him as if not to disrupt his moment of relaxation. “It was late and you…” 

How he looked at you…you couldn’t quite describe. Those eyes wide and glinting, the unadulterated sympathy that lingered in those pits—something else dancing with it that you were unsure of. Hoping to God that he would tell you outwardly instead of hoping you’d understand that one meaningful look. 

“Couldn’t leave you cryin’ on my doorstep,” he uttered, holding that stare, refusing to look away. 

“I’m sure lots of people would’ve,” you rebutted. 

“No one can say no to that face,” he finalised. 

Your heart fluttered in the confines of your chest, eyes wide as he looked at you—those perpetually tired eyes, those tense shoulders and clenched jaw, desperate to stroke your fingers over each eyelid and lull him to sleep. See if he would drift away with a smile and wake up with the same expression permanently etched into his face. Hoping he’d look at you like that for the rest of your life. 

“I wanna thank you properly, Joel.” There was a brief pause, a flicker as he scanned his way across your face, and then the heat of his stare was gone and you were left dowsed in ice water—waiting for his words. 

The hasty way he brought the cigarette to his lips, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and gazing at the grey as he exhaled, huffing with the force of a dragon trying to dispel the danger. The harsh way in which he shook his head, the utter rejection that brewed up inside you once you’d realised that you’d gone too far. The bravery you’d been gifted for speaking up had betrayed you; you’d crossed the line. 

“You really wanna go there?” 

You paused, eyes flickering softly over his form. He’d caught your double meaning with the grace of a fly falling directly into a death trap, flown right through your words, and came out the other end with a defiance you had expected but had not wanted. The man who looked at you like he wanted to lock you away, display you on a shelf so he could poke at you for eternity, had rejected you. It was more insecurity-inducing than you had thought. 

Feigning ignorance to heal the aching in your heart, you continued the game through a hoarse throat—wishing for the man who’d drooled over you that very first time you’d set eyes on him. 

“Go where?” 

“Don’t play stupid, we both know you ain’t.” 

He glared at you, the brightness of his eyes disappearing—a strange uncomfortable glint dancing in the shadows of them; you couldn’t stop looking at him and thinking that he looked goddamn exhausted. All the time. You were unsure if he ever slept, if he ever allowed himself to have a moment of peace, a short second to himself where he screamed into a pillow and rolled over to the other side of the bed—ready to drift off. You’d hold him until the frown on his face disappeared if he’d let you. 

From the way he stared at you, however, you were sure he didn’t want you there at all. 

“I just wanna thank you,” you said softly, gazing at him earnestly. “Seriously, Joel, you do a lot for me-” 

“I fix your tap and give you your mail, you don’t owe me shit.” It was almost self-deprecating, the way he refused you—as if he didn’t think he was worthy of you. 

“Will you just let me do this one thing?” 

“Now, let's get this straight,” he interrupted, accent growing as thick as his aggravation. “We ain’t friends.”

“I never said we-”

“I need you to listen to me.” The fatherly tone startled you, a far cry from those leering looks and sleazy stares—silencing you with the harshness of his tone. “You’re a goddamn kid. Whatever you think…whatever I’ve-” he cut himself off with a shake of his head, bringing the cigarette clasped between his fingers to his lips, inhaling sharply; all the smoke went into his lungs and none came out as he spoke again. “It ain’t right.” 

Silence encapsulated the space, your heart sinking as those words entered your ear and left through the other side, the rejection everything you had not expected. What had you expected really? For him to profess his undying love and hold you forever? For him to put you on his lap and tell you that he was proud of you? That he would be there for you forever and always? 

You’d hoped a little bit too much and consequently, been disappointed by your own expectations. 

“Who says?” you tried to level your voice, to rid of the fear and anxiety that had clouded your entire being since you’d learnt about your mortality—when you’d sat on a rocking chair at the ripe age of thirteen and rocked it so far you’d fallen flat on your face and hadn’t gotten up years later. 

“I say.” It came with so much conviction, that signature stare still plastered onto his face, set scowl all intimidation and no love—nothing behind those eyes except persistent irritation and self-hatred. 

Suddenly, you found some gall, blood bubbling as you mirrored his frown. “So it was okay when you looked through my bedroom window whilst I was changing? It was okay when you said I’d get cockdrunk real easy and laugh about me being dumb with your buddies? I thought I wasn’t stupid, Joel.” 

“You ain’t-”

“Then you should know that I know exactly what I want and what I want is to thank you!” A deep breath, gulping away the saliva that had accumulated in your mouth and observing every twitch of his jaw—the shake in his hands. “In a way that I know you want because I’m not stupid. You might think that you’re subtle but I promise you, you aren’t.” 

“What do you want from me, huh?” he asked abruptly, venom in his glare, all of it directed at you and poisoning your blood indelicately. 

It was a good question—one that stumped you if you were being completely honest. What did you want from him? A good fuck, someone to hold, someone to tell you that you were worth it? Or maybe, you just wanted him to make you feel desired. To make you feel like you were wanted by something, even if that something would hide you away, isolate you from your friends, and keep you trapped in a palace of deceit and fresh blood—cutting away at your flesh to keep the supply of crimson flowing. 

Joel urged you on with the power of his stare, waiting for an answer with false patience. 

“I just…” struggling to form a proper sentence, stringing together words in your mind that didn’t make sense. “I just need to know how you feel.” 

The answer didn’t seem like enough, his eyes trained on you for a few seconds more before he broke the contact, leaving you shivering as a breeze suddenly pushed through the open window—drapes dancing with the force of it. 

His attention was captured by the cigarette in hand, the thing almost smoked down to the filter, grey billowing from its end as he sniffed, shook his head, and stood. 

“You got an ashtray round here?” 

It startled you: the way he changed the subject so quickly, so determined to make you forget. To make himself forget. Standing there, hogging the space with his bulk, you could sense the turmoil—his hesitation to do what he wished to do and his distaste with himself for doing what he didn’t want to do: walk away. 

You were granting him an opportunity, a chance to put all that time spent watching porn into practice—to take whatever he wanted from you without guilt. 

However, it was better to acquiesce to his cowardice. Arguing would only push him to the point of no return. Truthfully, you were afraid of Joel and his temper. Sometimes, it felt dangerous to rile him or to talk to him out of turn. What he was capable of, you weren’t sure, but from the story that Spencer Dressure had told you about that one time his brother had taken off with Joel’s pills, the manhunt that followed it and the fact he had not pressed charges despite having to be hospitalised, left little room for you to think it was a good idea to be on Joel’s bad side. 

Calling him a pervert until he fucked you seemed to be a surefire way to get you on his list of foes. 

“It’s in my room,” you stood carefully, brushing past him to get to the small kitchenette, trying to subdue the result of smelling the remnants of cologne and tobacco that lingered on his skin. “Just put it out in this.” 

You handed him a dirty mug from the pile of dishes you had yet to tackle, cheeks heating as you became all too aware of your untidy home, before stepping a respectable distance away and waiting for his next move. 

What followed, you had not expected. The undeniable whiplash, the pain that ravaged your stomach as it flipped continuously, looping round and round like the coaster at Coney Island you used to fantasise about as a kid. 

“C’mere,” he murmured, a softness to the edge that melted you, pathetically accepting his advance as you stepped forward once, twice, thrice, only three steps and you were closer to him than you had been when you’d been situated on the couch moments before. 

The simple movement of him holding up the burning cigarette that was begging for death, the shortest ring of white decorating the cylinder, had you shuddering in anticipation. The brush of your fingers as you reached up to take it and the warmth in your belly as he shook his head and thrust the thing closer to your mouth. You caught his intentions too late for you not to feel embarrassed, gazing at him with a determination you knew was false, something he was bound to pick up on too if the shaking in your legs was as bad as it felt. 

Leaning forward, you parted your lips, clamping down on the cigarette with bravery you were surprised you could muster, and inhaled softly—taking every last thing it could give you and savouring the taste of his fingers on your lips as they brushed ever so slightly against his skin. 

“Listen,” he murmured as he watched you, eyes trained on your pursed lips as you pulled away and expelled the smoke from your throat, chin tilting slightly to direct the trail away from his face. “You’re a pretty girl.” 

You stayed rooted to the spot as you listened intently, eyes carefully observing his movements, the flex of his forearms as he dropped the dead cigarette into the mug and the sound of it sizzling as it reached the remnants of your morning coffee that nestled at the bottom. The way he looked at you and made you feel like he was your single priority—like nothing mattered in that moment except you and making sure you were holding onto his every word. 

“And I don’t hate you,” he continued, tilting his head to gaze at your face. “But you gotta understand, that you ain’t gonna be a long-term thing.” 

You could’ve laughed in his face if you weren’t so intimidated by the proximity to him, the warmth that emanated from his body and the goddamn smell of him that had your body reacting in ways you hadn’t ever expected it to. That telltale ache and warmth that pooled in your shorts, the way your skin burned—hair rising from your arms and breath catching in your throat as you were overcome with the need to start hyperventilating. 

“I don’t care either way,” you managed to huff out, shuffling slightly closer, teasing those boundaries you hadn’t known were there in the first place. 

He looked far from convinced, eyes narrowing slightly, chest heaving with a single, deep breath, and hands balled into fists at his sides as he tried as hard as he could to get inside your head. 

“I don’t know if I believe you.” 

Joel stayed leaning against your counter, casual in his stance but all-encompassing dominance in his demeanour. His menace plagued the trailer park, red “X’s” on every door that the man had targeted—a reminder to passers-by of his impact; what could happen if he was crossed: damnation, ostracisation, and wet pants from where they’d all pissed themselves under the strength of his harassment. A figure that the Preacher warned of as the making of the devil, the bottom of America’s proverbial melting pot. A figure that you now stood toe-to-toe with—staring evil right in the fucking face. 

If Hell burnt, he was surely a child of the underworld, scorching the earth beneath and ravaging the heat blazing in your pants. 

“What is there to believe?” you asked breathlessly. “If you wanna leave after, you can leave.” You failed to mention how desperate you were to lay skin-to-skin with him, to feel the heat of him everywhere as he wrapped himself around you: glossolalia in your ears as he lulled you to sleep.

“Babygirl, I ain’t afraid about wanting to leave.” 

It took a second, a moment of analysing his words before the sincerity of them reached your chest and broke all your ribs. Your lips parted, chest unashamedly heaving as the impact left you winded, and a shake in your legs that you tried to ignore in fear you’d fall flat on your face. 

Noting your body language, observing every inch of you—even the smallest of reactions—he took your sporadic breaths as an indicator to continue, standing to his full height as he stepped closer; towering with the grace of the land of Idumaea above you. 

A hand cupped your cheek, a tenderness to the touch that was destroyed by his next words. 

“You ain’t stickin’ around,” he said plainly. “I need you to know that.” 

“I know,” you said defiantly, growing increasingly annoyed with the tone he was taking with you—like you were some disobedient kid who needed reprimanding. It seemed he didn’t much appreciate how you spoke either as his soft touch quickly transformed, fingers gripping your chin and squeezing.

“I don’t wanna be the one to say I told you so,” he murmured. “I don’t want you whinin’ after this or talkin’ about me with Lillian otherwise the whole goddamn place is gonna know that I fucked you. Then, they gon’ be askin’ about you and I don’t like sharin’.” He tugged on your chin, tilting your face so he could lean in. His lips against your ear made you shiver, hot breath against your skin causing every hair to stand to attention and a sweat to form on the back of your neck. “Understand?” 

He pulled away, eyes back on yours—that tiredness replaced with a lust so profound that you were sure he could’ve made you spontaneously cum just by looking at you. 

Attempting to ignore the ache between your thighs, you nodded. When you replied with an “I understand,” there was the overwhelming feeling that you had just signed away your life to an evil force, a ghost with bad intentions that had asked permission to haunt you for the rest of your days. You could move houses and he would be there, you could move states and he would be there, you could move out of the entire country and he would be waiting for you with a hard stare and a clenched jaw. There wasn’t a single scenario in which you could get away from him. 

A stain between your legs: forever. 

“Alright,” he drawled, breathing coming just as heavy as yours, eyes flicking to your lips—subconsciously licking his own. “Alright…” 

It was slow, the entwining of lips, the gentle way that you both leaned into each other—picking at each petal on a daisy until all that remained was the yellow disk in the centre; lips meeting in the middle of the earth and connecting each continent until you both brought back the great mass of Pangea. His hand cupping your cheek, opening his mouth to let you in, tugging at your waist to pull you flush against him and breathing heavily through his nose when the shock that froze you washed away and you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

You leaned up, chin tilting as his hand engulfed one side of your face, fingers tickling your hair, teasing the short wisps before threading his fingers into the length and tugging at it: hard. 

A soft whimper left your throat, vibrations running through your body as he trailed his hand under your shirt—desperate to feel the dip of your waist, the soft skin just beneath your ribcage that he ran a gentle thumb over. 

Tongues entwined in heavenly matrimony, the taste of him tingling on your flesh, the heat of him burning your insides until all that remained was a bubbling pit in your stomach that spit lava and breathed fire. 

You truly lost your head when he snaked his hand further under your shirt, taking advantage of your lack of bra as he skimmed his fingers under your breast and smirked against your lips at the sound you emitted—a shuddering, high-pitched thing that shot right from the back of your throat and sent heat streaming in waves down your legs.  

Desperately, you tugged at the hair that tickled his neck, pressing your weight against him, allowing him to brush every so slightly over your nipple and relish in the reaction he caused as your knees fell weak and your kisses grew harder. 

“Joel,” you murmured between the kiss, finally feeling the heat of him against you, the hard plains of his body that kept you grounded—locked in a transcendental dance, swaying in the lamplight as he hummed into your mouth: his response to your call. 

The words you had nestled on disappeared from your head, your questions and answers, statements and expressions all leaving on a cloud that settled out of your reach with God on high. His hands left you empty, his lips causing your stomach to flip and your cunt to ache in the crudest, most hedonistic sensation humankind had been granted. The deep, gruelling feeling between your legs that flashed so hot, so wet, that you found yourself unconsciously grinding your hips against his—catching the groan that dispelled from his lips and the grip on your hips that grew hard enough to bruise. 

When he pulled away to press an array of kisses to your jaw, trailing down to your neck and sucking on the junction, your knees grew weak and the fire inside you raged so large that you would’ve begged at his feet to put it out. You were choking on the smoke, flames licking at your calves and travelling higher, and with another call of his name, he commanded Noah to grant you a flood. 

He trailed his fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling it tight and tugging it upwards. You didn’t want to part from him to get it over your head, clinging to him like he was life itself, ignited by his palms pressing over your bare breasts as he hiked the fabric up towards your chin. You obeyed his quiet command, pulling away just far enough for him to peel it off and then brought him right back towards you as his head fell to your chest and his lips clasped around your nipple. 

“Fuck,” you whispered between laboured breaths, his tongue laving over your skin, lapping at every sweet flash of flesh.

His lips moved against you as he uttered a muffled, “Filthy mouth,” kissing back up to your lips in haste. “Always got somethin’ nasty to say.” The deep, rasp of his voice fell into your ears; the heat of his breath against your mouth as he stared at you with an intensity that flashed right through the very core of your soul. 

Bare-chested in his presence, the rough fabric of his shirt rubbing against you, you couldn’t quite come up with a reply. Words failed you, wit and intelligence just out of reach and the feeling that you were drunk on him without even having a cock inside you. Joel had been right. You think he might’ve been right about everything and you were prepared, in your shitty kitchen, with your shirt laying in a heap on the floor, to do whatever he wanted you to. 

“Joel.” It was the only constant word running through your head, the only name you could muster as he pecked you on the lips and splayed his hands along every bare bit of skin he could reach. 

“Not gonna fuck you in the kitchen, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. 

You wouldn’t have minded if he had, the adrenaline of his touches leaving little room for you to feel picky, but with the slow merging of lips as he placed gentle kisses to your mouth, coaxing you to speak, you managed to shudder out a sentence. 

Nodding, you removed your hands from his hair, reaching for his palm that rested on your waist and entwined your fingers with his. You couldn’t bear not feeling his warmth, his weight, over you, your feet hurried as you turned away from him and tugged him down the hallway—intent on shouldering through the open door that led to your room.

With the sun setting in the west, shards of golden light shot through your bedroom window, the patterns on the lace drapes casting shadows of profound nature marching across your comforter—the bunched-up blanket that lay at the foot of your unmade bed after you’d kicked it off in the middle of the night: too hot and head too full of the man that pushed you down onto the very mattress you’d touched yourself in the night before—ignoring the beauty of the four walls illuminated by mother nature’s dying heart. 

Human consumption, an all-encompassing need as he ate at your flesh, ripped your skin from its bones as he positioned you in the middle of the bed, kicked his shoes off, and nestled on top of you—a knee between your thighs that pulled a gasping breath from your lungs. 

“Pretty baby,” he murmured, lips back on your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone and thumb working over your nipple—watching carefully to note the furrow of your brow, the parting of your lips and the bend in your back as you arched into him, reaching for his shoulders to feel the entire weight of him pushing you through the feathers and springs. “Always so pretty.”

Kissing down your bare stomach, tongue flicking against the skin as he reached his hands into your shorts—fists tugging just slightly to reveal your hipbones and the slight dusting of hair that nestled between them. He lay his lips on it, eyes ablaze when they opened and settled right on your heaving chest. There was question in them as he ran his thumbs over your hips, asking non-verbally whether he could strip you bare—fingers clasped around the hem, pulling just a little further and then ridding of them completely as you nodded your head and bucked your hips to ease the fabric down your legs. 

“No panties?” he grumbled, letting you kick away the shorts—hearing the thump as they landed somewhere at the foot of your bed. 

The air hitting your naked body left you writhing in the wake of enlightenment, body attuned to every touch as he rubbed his lips over your mons, breathing you in and forcing a whimper from your throat. A retort to his question pulled you from the reverie of weary head, smiling softly as you mumbled, “You’ve already seen them before.” 

He narrowed his eyes, smoulderingly handsome and devastatingly beautiful—beauty stripped away as he landed a smack to the side of your thigh, pulled a gasp from your throat and hummed softly. 

“Yeah, they were pretty.” He silences any response by grabbing onto your thighs, spreading your legs apart and tilting his head as he stared blankly at your cunt—taking in every detail. “Pretty like this pussy,” he murmurs into the space, breath fanning over your wet slit and causing your hips to twitch. Noting the movement, he slowly and deliberately purses his lips, inhales and breathes out a line of air against your clit. It pulses through you, the cold stream causing your eyes to flutter shut and a heavy heat to settle in your stomach. 

“J-Joel,” you stutter, biting your lip, hoping desperately that he’d touch you properly—bring you to that blissful brink where you could teeter just once and go falling over the edge into a meadow blanketed by the hands of angels and the mouth of God. 

“What?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his tone that aggravates you further. “Gotta speak up, sweetheart, I ain’t no mindreader.” 

“No,” you manage to huff out as he manoeuvres your leg over his shoulder, his thumb running along the outside flesh, teasing you to the point of no return. “No, you’re just an asshole.” 

“Mhm,” he agrees, licking his lips as he brings his eyes away from yours and gives his full attention to the leaking slit between your legs that pulses with the heat and aches with the denial. “She don’t seem to think so.” 

God and it's disgusting: the way he talks about you. It’s depraved and sick and so awfully indulgent but lying there, limp and at his mercy, you can’t care. All you can think about is his thumb travelling slowly, back and forth, along your slit, the gentle kisses he places on the insides of your thighs and the words “Think I should give her some love, don’t you?” swimming in your head before your mind blanked completely and your skin sears as he presses his mouth fully over your cunt, and begins to lick with intention. 

Expletives fall from your mouth, silenced by a second smack to your thigh and a chastising “Language,” as he pauses briefly, leaving you sweating and scared he’s changed his mind before he’s diving headfirst inside you again—tongue teasing at your hole. 

It pulls the worst of sounds from your, body reacting on autopilot as you arch into him, head falling back into the pillows and hands grasping the sheet beneath you in the hopes of gaining a semblance of stability. 

He doesn’t seem to like that, however, his head tilting upwards and hands grasping onto yours as he pulls them to his head, shuddering as your nails reach his scalp. “Hold on, baby,” he says with a slight smirk. “Don’t want you fallin’ off now, do we?” 

The assault on your cunt begins again, his tongue dancing with ease over the full surface, sucking and nipping and eating like he can’t stand to hear the growling or feel the sharp jolts of pain in his stomach anymore. The breathy moans ripping from your throat, the wet sounds reverberating from between your legs that you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by—the tearing sound as you gripped so hard onto his hair that you pulled tufts from the thick grey. 

Whimpering and writhing; unable to function with him lapping up everything from you—stealing the sweetness of your heat and hoarding it away in his back pocket.

When he sunk his fingers inside, life was pumped back into you, a phantom defibrillator bringing a gasp from your throat—eyes snapping open. 

“Shh,” he murmured as he pulled his mouth away, working his fingers in and out, stroking at the spot that sent you straight to heaven. “Relax, baby.” 

The words swam in your ears, feeling that sweet pressure in your stomach as he continued thrusting his fingers into you, curling them upwards in a manner that had your thighs shaking and a deep exhaling pouring from your chest. You trapped him between your legs when he leant down to lick at you again, small laps that transformed into blissful suckling as he took your clit fully into his mouth. The combination of his mouth and his fingers, the encouraging way he looked at you every single time you dared open your eyes, all had you ascending. 

Every nerve was on fire, synapses working double time to keep up with the overload of sensations imploding inside of you. The world scurried away on a wave, eyes rolling back, toes curling as you squeezed your thighs around his head—locking him there to ensure he would not leave you. That he would keep this feeling brewing in your stomach building forever. 

“Joel,” you murmured between moans, a trail of expletives following it as you stepped to the edge of the cliffs in Big Sur, looked down at the rolling waves as your eyes fluttered shut, swaying in the wind, and letting the gust sweep you over. 

A strangled cry left you, a powerful force of nature overtaking you as you gripped tight onto his hair—briefly recognising his growl as you did so. You continued to fall, the sound of crashing ocean in your ears, before you landed softly in the tall grass and basked in the glow of the setting sun as it nestled across your face. 

Your chest rose and fell as his fingers slowed, mouth now hovering above you and watching intently as your head fell into the pillows and your body slumped with the exhaustion of pleasure. 

You found his mouth wet when you finally opened your eyes, his fingers smearing slick over your hip as he crawled up your body and tugged you down the mattress. 

“You still with me?” he asked as he placed kisses on your neck, brushing sweaty hair away from your forehead and cradling your face in his hand. 

You managed a nod, communicating with actions as you pulled his face to yours, kissing him earnestly and trailing your hands towards the hem of his shirt, muttering an “Off,” barely registering his laugh at your eagerness. 

“Yeah, you’re still here,” he said with mirth, straddling your hips as he sat up to rip his shirt from his body, throwing it next to the pile of your clothes. “Still want it.” He grunted as he palmed himself through his jeans, the sight of him on top of you, so strong, so powerful, caging you in like you were a baby deer and he was the one standing over your dying body with a rifle. A shot through your legs as you heard the clink of his belt buckle, another to your stomach as he slid it from its loops and finally, one to the head when he reached into his pants and pulled his cock free. 

Sizeable in an entirely intimidating way—the vein on the underside that peeked through his fingers as he firmly stroked himself. That slight lick of precum gathering at the tip that dominated the space, your mouth watering as you were taken by the overwhelming urge to suck. He didn’t let you, however—pulling away to slide his jeans off his legs, boxers with them and leant over you to kiss you again. 

You couldn’t get enough of his lips, plump flesh bringing you to life as he nestled his mouth against yours—tongue forcing its way inside to meet yours. He tasted faintly of cigarettes and pussy, smelt of them too, yet it was buried under the overwhelming scent of him. The slight whiff of dollar store soap which was endearing more than anything, the musk of cologne he habitually sprayed over himself every day—a few more squirts when he was bedbound for a few days, unable to move with the pain weighing him down, and hadn’t found the will to shower. 

It hadn’t been one of those weeks though. You could tell as you ran your fingers through his hair, soft and fluffy, slightly wiry with his old age and thinning in the back but still so full and gorgeous. He smelt so good. So much so that as he buried his face in your neck to nip at your collarbone, you inhaled softly, breathing him in, feeling so content being trapped in this complicated dance with him. 

Your head was going funny, your body tingling and then going into overdrive when his hard cock touched the insides of your thighs—his bare chest against yours as he kissed back up to your lips, pecking twice before pulling away to stare at you. 

“No thoughts in that head, huh?” he murmured, leaning down to steal another kiss. Back up again to brand you with the force of his eyes. “Just want daddy’s cock, don’t ya.”

The visceral reaction that ran down your spine, shocked you. The undeniable shiver at the nickname, the complete perversity of it that had your cheeks heating in shame. 

“You’re fucking disgusting,” you breathed out, no real conviction to it, predicting perfectly what his next words would be. 

“And you like it.” His hand slid down your stomach, diving straight inside you and then falling in one swift movement. Fingers brought in front of your face, a slight smile on his face that you revelled in—the prospect of seeing him even slightly happy making butterflies fall and flutter in your stomach. “Sure looks like you like it.” 

The physical evidence swayed the final verdict, his wet fingers falling to your lips, you opening your mouth to let it in and lick away the verification. 

The groan that came from deep in his chest when you sucked his fingers had slick dripping down your thighs—the hasty way that he pulled his hand away from you to reach for his cock: all-consuming. Every cell cried out for Joel, for the blissful stretch, the fumbling of bodies as he slotted himself inside you and the casual roll of his hips as he drilled into you. 

His head at your entrance was undeniably overwhelming, the feel of it dragging back and forth along your slit, slipping in twice before he finally sunk inside—his body covering yours as he breathed a “There you go,” against your lips. “Take it for me, baby.”

His words helped with the ease, the burn of the stretch still prevalent but the need to please him, to be good for him, dulled the pain. The kisses on your forehead, the whispered, strained praise as he pressed inside of you, words jumbled and hurried—no sense to half of them—until he was fully inside you, balls pressed against your ass and a tear trailing into your hairline. 

Joel kissed it away, lips closing around the salty liquid, pulling away to gaze at your expression. His palms settled against either side of your head, grounding himself—trying to remain the competent party between the two of you, pulling his teeth between his lips and clenching his jaw as his fists curled into the sheets. 

When he’d settled and become comfortable with the tightness of you around him, he kissed you again, lips wet and swollen from where he’d bit at them—a full-mouthed kiss. Opening you up, distracting you from the length of him pulling away, leaving your cunt open and lonely, then the gasp and shudder as he pushed back into you. 

“J-Joel,” you stuttered out, unable to recall if you’d said anything except his name for the past hour. 

“I know, babydoll, I know.” 

He started slow, hips rolling, cock sliding: in and out, round and round, pubic bone catching on your clit—the sweet pressure that clouded you, that left you boneless and aching. The moan you let out was something that you would’ve been embarrassed by if it wasn’t for his praise. The sweet “Good girl,” that crept past his lips, followed by the “Keep makin’ those pretty little noises for me.” It could’ve been perceived as affection if it wasn’t for the growling tone it was uttered with, a particular harsh thrust that was met with a grunt and a whine. 

The world around you slipped away, the only constant being Joel and his hooded gaze, his parted mouth as he sucked in every breath you exhaled. Those perfect arms hooking around you, locking you in with him, the weight of him leaving as he sat up on his haunches to gaze down at the sight of him lost inside you—the fire that danced along your belly as he pulled your legs apart and began thrusting at a pace your mind could not catch up with. 

Words muffled in your ears, “Such a sweet little cunt.” A flash of heat down your neck as they reached your cock-muddled brain—whispered right inside your head. “Dreamt about this pussy.” Pace faltering as he parted his mouth and took a deep breath; his eyes fluttering shut. “Always fucking dreamin’ about ya.”

That southern drawl that lulled you right through every sensation, comforting words that helped you gain some amount of strength—just wanting to reach him and pull him close. It was cold without him pressed against you. Detached. In a way you didn’t want to be, in a way that you had always thought sex shouldn’t be. 

When he grumbled out, “My perfect girl,” you couldn’t stand the separation anymore, pushing up on your forearms and somehow managing to jump him, bracketing his thighs and swinging your arms around his neck—kissing him madly. 

The surprised grunt he let out made you smile, his hips stilling as you sat on him—feeling him so deep inside you it felt like he was stabbing at your stomach. You whined against his lips when he rolled his hips upwards, losing the will to move as you buried your face in his neck. 

Bodies entwined, limbs entangled and a mouth moving against your hair as it uttered words so sinful that you were sure the cross on your bedroom wall, hung right above your bed, would turn upside down all on its own. The devil in your room, his spawn fucking you on your bed and a laugh on God’s lips because he always knew you were false. That there was no verity to your prayers, that you weren’t ever a true daughter; that you would never spend eternity with him when you fell from the burning bridge to the lake. 

“Does my baby wanna ride?” he asked, hands on your ass, moving you up and down along his length whilst he smiled into your hair. Enjoying the desperation—basking in the way you pleaded for him. 

You nodded your head at his question, unable to breathe with the casual move of his hips paired with the strong manhandle as he moved you along him. 

“Wanted to feel you,” you mumble out softly, entirely dumb with the feel of him—sweat dripping down each body and mingling at the bottom of a well. “Just wanted you.” 

Within Joel Miller, in all his outright madness, past all that anger and tribulation, lay a vulnerability you had always wanted to pull from him. A vulnerability that he showed you, in your bed, with you wrapped around him, grinding your hips against his to feel that growth in your stomach. Vulnerability that he perfectly lay in front of you with broken laces lined up in an order, as he whined. A low, breathy thing that had something snapping inside you—a primal instinct as your slick spilt onto his thighs and your brain decided to give him everything. 

You reached up to drag your hands through his hair, using his hands on your ass as a guide—where to start and where to stop, where to speed up and slow down—as you rode him. Nails dragged down to his shoulders, digging into the skin of his back as he bucked his hips upwards. 

“Pretty, pretty, baby,” he mumbled. “Think about you all the time. Think about that perfect little face when I’m jerkin’ off.” 

Such crude words had your heart fluttering, your pace picking up as you pressed your forehead against his and chased that fleeting high. Unable to think of the comedown in the moment, too enraptured by his arms holding you tight against him, the slight dusting of hair against his chest that stimulated your nipples so perfectly and of course, his gorgeous fucking cock that dragged inside you with the sweetest of scrapes. Pushing and pulling, touching against the mind-numbing spot inside you with every thrust—every time you slammed down against his hips. 

“I- I,” you managed to breathe out when it all came flooding in. A hurricane swept past the county, headed straight for your home, walls down and completely defenceless when you felt the wind knocking against the panes. “Joel.”

“Shhh, baby, I got you.” He wrapped his left arm fulling around your waist, placing the right against your face to tilt your head back. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

Rain was fully beating down on your shelter, dripping through the rafters—threatening to push through the roof and flood you with debris. 

“I got you,” he repeated, holding you tight as there was nowhere else to go. Nowhere to run. Just wait for the glass to break and the door to slam open. 

You could only moan, unable to keep moving—just letting him do all the work. To keep doing exactly as he had been as the rain came pouring in through the cracks, water rising so fast you were waist-deep in it by the time he muttered a “Let go for me,” his hand moving to cradle the back of your head and keep you locked in place. “C’mon, baby, give daddy another one.” 

His words broke the glass entirely, the roof caving in as the hurricane raged, inching closer and closer until it found you—beating you right to the floor.

It was a continual cry of his name, his words sweet in your ear as he worked you through it, tone strangled and tense as his stomach clenched and he thrust his hips at breakneck speed—deciding that he couldn’t focus on you any longer as he was beaten to the ground by the twister alongside you.

Pulling away hastily, he reached a hand down to rub his cock, fisting at the length until he spilt over you with a broken moan and painted your stomach with the making of your union. 

You were still twitching when his breathing slowed, his arm still tight around you; not quite ready to let go yet. 

The storm had passed, and you were left with the damage of its destruction. 

Broken furniture, ravaged landscape, and a hole where you and Joel lay—fingers brushing against one another as you reached out to him. 

There was a brief moment of peace, the time between now and what was to come, pausing as if to grant you the sweet mercy of holding on for just a minute longer. 

Then, as quickly as it came it was gone, a single kiss to your lips before he gently laid you down, hesitating just a moment, gazing at you like he wanted to stay, before deciding that he was too stubborn to go against his word, and stood up from the bed to find his pants. 

Stupidly, in your fucked-out, hazy state of mind, you decided to ignore everything he’d said before: about you not being permanent. Some part of you wanted to believe that he had said it just to hurt you, that there was no real meaning behind them except mindless arrogance and a will to push you away because he was afraid. 

“You aren’t staying?”

He paused his movements, halfway through putting his jeans on, and looked at you with something akin to disgust. 

“What’d I tell you, princess?” 

It was awful. That switch.

As soon as his dick wasn’t wet and leaking, he was gone. Lost to the tunnels of his mind, trapped in a maze that had no exit. You couldn’t find him—couldn’t see that Joel that had been there just moments ago, calling you pretty and perfect. Telling you that you were his girl. 

You’d agreed, you knew you had. It didn’t make it any less painful as he refused to look at you when he re-buckled his belt, didn’t even glance over when you reached down for the blankets and pulled them around you—suddenly feeling entirely exposed. 

All you could do was watch: in an awkward silence. Scan his face for anything as he pulled his shirt over his head and didn’t even dare sit on the bed to put his boots back on. 

It was hurtful when he reached into his back pocket to shake out a cigarette, bringing it to his lips and flicking open his zippo in a way that shouldn’t have been so damn attractive. 

“Joel?” Where the bravery had come from, you didn’t know, your body shaking under the covers as his eyes landed on yours for the first time since he’d stared at you as you came undone. 

“Mhm?” he grunted out in response, breathing out the smoke and going straight in for another drag. 

What you were going to say, you hadn’t thought out. You hadn’t thought out the entire encounter in general and in that moment it felt like you hadn’t thought out anything in your entire life. So, when the mumbled, “Thank you,” fell from your lips and the harsh chuckle fell from his, you couldn’t quite stop the feeling of utter embarrassment and humiliation. 

You’d promised him you wouldn’t tell anyone, that you wouldn’t go spouting his business to the park's biggest gossips, so you wouldn’t. You’d have to sit with it, to go back to lying on your bedroom floor every day and regretting everything and everyone. Rehashing every person you had wronged when you were stuck in the harshest depths of your mind, every time you’d been beaten down by those out to get you—every fork in the road you’d come across that seemed to harbour identical destinations: damnation. 

“Gratitude accepted,” he mumbled out, cigarette perched between his lips—inhaling and exhaling with it still in his mouth. 

For some reason, you wanted to cry. Your throat closed, lip quivering and tears forming in your waterline. You suppressed it—at least, you tried to. He’d already seen you cry before. You had no interest in letting him see it again.

There was a heavy silence as he stood there smoking, eyes trained on you and taking note of your throat bobbing as you swallowed down the lump. You knew you’d been caught then, his twitching jaw that he rid of with another drag of the cigarette, the slight sigh that he huffed out through his nose and the single nod of his head as he walked the few paces to your bed and sat down atop the mattress. 

Quietly, he gestured the burning stick towards you, watching as you accepted it gratefully. It helped rid the ache in your chest. 

“I said I didn’t wanna say I told you so,” he said, running a hand over his scruff before placing it on your thigh—skin burning through the thin material. 

You sniffled, trying to maintain composure as you jutted your chin out and gave him the hardest of stares you could muster. 

“And I said I understood.” You let the cigarette burn between your fingers—the single drag making you feel sick to your stomach. “I’m not…naive. Not stupid either.” 

“I know,” he said plainly. “I know.” 

“Then why are you still here?” It was said bitterly, a tone that you hadn’t wanted to take with him but left your body unconsciously as some form of repressed rage came bubbling in pieces through you. 

He swallowed calmly, pulling his hand away as he plucked the cigarette from between your fingers—deciding he needed it more than you did. 

“Just wanted to…” he cleared his throat upon hearing the strain in his tone, seemingly struggling to speak the words aloud. “Just wanted to make sure you understood.”

“And I do,” you countered quickly.

“Good,” he countered even quicker. 

Your skin was burning, and your cunt began to ache with the loss of him—the imprint that he’d left inside you that you were sure would be there for some time. 

The smell of tobacco was starting to make you feel sick, the scent of sex in the air a harsh reminder of everything you’d gained and lost in the space of a few hours.

The sun hid itself behind the horizon, its light no longer shining through and piercing your heart. 

It was instead the harsh stab of his gaze, the lasting feeling of his hands on your thighs and the intense tightness in your chest every time you looked at him, that broke you completely. 

“You can go,” you mumbled, watching his face for any sign that he didn’t want to do as you asked—that he’d finally lay beside you and stroke your hair as he told you everything he’d done wrong. Just so maybe you could feel normal. Like someone else in this world had finally seen you and understood that you weren’t perfect—that there were more flaws than strengths and more fuckups than good decisions. 

There was nothing. Just a blank stare as he stood, knees cracking and back aching—walking away and leaving the phantom feel of him inside you, nestled between your legs. 

“See you ‘round,” he mumbled, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, okay.” 

There was a pause as he waited, eyes firmly on the floor as he screwed his brow up—looking like he was thinking hard. Weighing up his options before flicking his gaze up and landing on you: naked and trembling in bed. 

“I still mean it.” You were confused for a moment, waiting for a confession, hoping in the grandest of your delusions that he’d change his mind and love you till the end of time. Then, the confirmation that, upon close inspection, seemed to be the closest to a confession you would ever get. “You need anythin’, I’ll be there.” 

You nodded to show you understood, unable to speak in fear you’d crack and crumble, and watched with a deep longing in your heart as he turned his back on you, and walked away. 

His footsteps were heavy against the floor, his power reverberating all throughout the trailer—the gentleness he displayed in small gifts of protectiveness and affection, shown through the way he closed the door as quietly as he could. If it wasn’t for the creak of the steps, you would’ve thought he hadn’t left at all. 

When you were sure he was gone, you allowed yourself a moment to cry, turning over in bed to curl up in a ball of self-pity. 

Why he couldn’t stay, you were unsure. Why he wouldn’t hold you close, if only for one night, you didn’t know. You didn’t know anything. You were lost in a world you were so sure was not meant for you, knowing right there, in the sweat of your bed with tears dripping off your nose, that you did not know Joel Miller and would never know him for as long as he lived. 

Cracking him open was like trying to split a coconut with nothing but your bare hands. 

Crying with no one to hold you, those final words of admission ran through your head; you knew that this problem, you could not go to him with. That the word “anything,” was a courtesy and a promise he could not cater to. 

Head pounding with disdain, tears running with despondency, chest aching so painfully you thought your heart would fail. In some way, you wished it would. Just so you could rest for a moment. Because you couldn’t without the warmth of him behind you, his arms tugging you close and lips on the side of your head—whispering everything that had pulled him to you and kept him there. 

Turning around to face your window, pressing a palm to your head like it would take away the pain, you gazed at the trailer that neighboured yours. The cracks and cobwebs that littered its surface, the two chairs that spent every waking moment together, tucked into their own corner of the world where they could whisper and giggle—expel every truth because all that time had left them with nothing but absolute trust. 

You realised that sitting in the chair on the left, the one that had no owner would mean that you and Joel would have to navigate the same type of relationship: one that relied on a bond unbroken by anything except their mistakes and mistruths. 

You faced away, closing your eyes and willing God to send you an eternal sleep—pathetically pretending that he was there beside you as you ran a finger over the drying cum on your stomach and the lingering bruising inside of you that left a blood on your thighs and a butterfly in your head as it knocked against each surface of your skull and fell gracelessly when it came hurtling against the wall.

© virginreprise

a/n: well, i finally got it out!! not entirely pleased with it but i never am lol. it's only half proofread just because i got bored halfway through and only went through what i wrote today. either way, i hope you enjoyed it!! maybe...there'll be more chapters after this. it's quite a depressing ending which is what i like best tbh but it'd be nice to see joel finally stop being a dick :))

thanks for reading !

taglist: @1maasrpe

[demiesworld]

Can you write this?

Modern day Hantengu Quad Squad. College AU. The brothers are all in different classes but all are thirsting over the same girl who’s in some of their classes. They each try flirting with her, and she thinks she’s being hit in by the same guy numerous times.

【♛ demie: i like this idea it's super cute. idk if you listen to rnb songs, but this reminded me of the song "same girl" by usher & r. kelly.】

𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞?! [kny]

anime: demon slayer

characters: sekido, karaku, aizetsu, urogi, akaza (mentioned), douma (mentioned), kokushibou (mentioned), rengoku (mentioned), & muzan (mentioned)

contents: swearing, suggestive content, college!au, human!clones, afab!reader, reader uses she/her pronouns.

notes: the hantengu brothers are all 22 years of age. everyone mentioned in this is described as being human. yes i made the infinity castle as infinity academy bc why tf not? also i do not understand how japanese schools operate, formally, so i am trying my best to keep this as accurate as possible. peep the hints i throw in before each brother is revealed :)

click here for more quad squad series!

You are a new transfer student at the Infinity Academy and today was your very first day at your new school. You were a student at your current school's rival, Kimetsu Academy, however due to some unresolved complications with them, you had transferred over to Infinity Academy. So far you thought the new school was quite captivating especially with its students that attended it. You met the top three popular seniors of the academy, Kokushibou, Douma, and Akaza. They were assigned by the head of the school, Muzan Kibutsuji, to give you a tour of the buildings.

Kokushibou you could describe as an alluring young male. He had shoulder-length wispy black hair that changed into red at the tips. His piercing eyes were the similar to the color of your mother's favorite wine sangria. You in addition admired his beauty for his smooth ivory skin. In short, you thought of him as being virtually handsome.

Douma, on the other hand, possessed a captivating semblance that you couldn't discern. You didn't know if it was because of his physical looks or the charismatic pull he had. Either way, you were for the time being amazed with the young man. He towered above you, as did most men do, and would look at you with those what you would call prism irises. You were unable to call them a specific color since they appeared to shift from hazel to blue to green and you swore you saw them change into a shade of purple. His platinum colored hair was a standout too.

Akaza appeared to be a delinquent and bad news in your opinion, at least before you learned more about him. While he was shorter than Kokushibou and Douma, he made up for it in his muscular build. He had pale blue colored eyes that you initially thought were false contacts. The black denim vest he was wearing with ripped out sleeves exposed three thick black stripes on each forearm. Not only that he had vibrant fuschia-dyed hair complemented by matching color wispy eyelashes.

Your impression of Kokushibou was being quite reserved and reticent while he along with his upperclassmen showed you around. Though he did speak up when either of the two men gave you false or wrong information about things. He would also reprimand the two from bickering and causing a scene in front of you. In the midst of the tour, Kokushibou had to leave early due to a class he was required to attend as the teacher's assistant.

Then there was Douma who you thought of as suspicious with his outlandish stories that he was telling you. You didn't believe any of them. You perceived his personality as being apathetic, immature, yet positively gravitating due to his charm and approachable demeanor. Had it not been for his backhanded comment about your school attire you would have showed an interest in him.

Lastly was Akaza, or as Douma revealed to you Hakuji. He promptly told you to only call him Akaza whenever you'd see him. He was certainly the most tolerable out of the trio. Douma had told you that Akaza was a former student at Kimetsu Academy, like you, before he transferred to Infinity Academy during his second year. When you asked Akaza why he had switched schools so suddenly, after Akaza had fought with Douma over revealing it to you, he briefly stated it was because of his behavior. Which he didn't want to elaborate to you, and you didn't want to continue after that.

They were a pretty interesting trio.

As soon as your little tour with the three upperclassmen had ended, you were escorted by Akaza to your homeroom class. Douma left you two alone because he had "better and important" things to do. Which you two were thankful for, because Douma was exasperating. Akaza let you know that since you were a sophomore your classes would be held in a different building than theirs, and you wouldn't be seeing much of them after today. You told him you would be fine and watched him leave before walking into your homeroom.

You were greeted by an almost empty classroom, which you understood because you showed up just five minutes early before the bell even rang. There were a few students that sat in desks and were occupied with either their phones, doodling in notebooks, or talking in small groups. Plenty of empty chairs as well. You walked over to an empty desk, placing your backpack on the top of the desk.

The small group of students had stopped talking amongst each other to give you quick glances. You heard them being silent and gave them a side-eye glare, but didn't acknowledge their presence.

Just then a male student with shoulder-length wavy black hair and the finest of sun-kissed skin strolled through the threshold of the classroom. As he entered, he lifted a hand up to tap against the top frame of the door. He had his bag slung over his right shoulder, his arm unintentionally flexing his muscles because of the secure grip he had. A wide toothy beam was on his face as he went over to the teacher's desk and started to shuffle through the papers that were neatly aligned.

"Come on, I know you fucking graded my shit already teach'," the boy murmured to himself while continuing his aggressive search for whatever it was.

At that moment the homeroom teacher walked in holding a stack of papers in his hands. When he saw the male student at his desk, messing with his graded assignments, he sternly exclaims, "Hantengu!" The student flinches when he hears his surname being yelled and turned on his heel to face the teacher when he warns, "Get away from my desk, now."

The young male held a hand up in surrender and said, "Relax teach' I was just looking for my test from yesterday." He took a step away from the desk when the teacher was coming towards it.

"Your test isn't even on my desk, boy. I knew you would try to find it, so I hid it from you." The teacher took a seat at his chair and glared daggers at the guy. "You're gonna have to wait till fourth period, now go sit down."

After clicking his tongue then making a muttered comment about waiting till the end of the day, the male student turned his back to the teacher to go to his desk. Which was the same spot that he'd sit in during his fourth period class, and the spot you were now occupying. He stopped in his tracks when he saw his currently filled in seat. His eyes had a gleeful gander when he saw you there. He had to admit you were pretty damn cute in the black pleated skirt, black thigh-high socks, white low top sneakers, a nice snug cream collared shirt, and beige cardigan.

A sly smile came on his lips, "Well damn," he said aloud, the young male went over to sit in the empty desk behind you. When he walked past he made a flirtatious comment, "It's not even my birthday, but I got a nice piece of cake sittin' in my seat."

You turned around in the chair to face him with a pointed glare, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, sweet cheeks," He responds to you with a grin on his handsome face. "You must be new here then, because usually people don't sit in my seat."

Instead of antagonizing him about the nickname he just gave you, you crossed your legs and folded your arms to your chest. "And why don't people sit in your seat? I don't see a name on it."

He points up to the air vent that's directly above your head. "I get hot pretty quick, so I like to be 'neath the air vent right here." He puts his hands behind his head, reclining in the chair and facing up at the ceiling. "But you're fine sittin' right there, sweet cheeks, because after all," he lowers his head to look at you with a grin. "You're keepin' my seat warm 'nd I like the view."

You were flabbergasted by his attitude, but you couldn't hide the smile that was twitching on your face. You uncrossed your arms and leaned forward in the direction of this gleeful student. You ask, "What's your name Mr. Hantengu?" You use his surname as a way to tease him.

He rolled his eyes at you playfully and cracks into a smile when he hears your laughter. He likes it. "Don't call me that." He says, then adds, "My name is Urogi. What 'bout yours sweet cheeks?"

You tell him your name at the same time the bell rings the loud piercing dinging muffling your voice. Urogi was about to ask you to repeat yourself, but you turn around in your seat and face away from him. He pouts when he doesn't get to see your face anymore.

During the homeroom teacher going over the code of conduct, the academy's upcoming events, and other things that you weren't quite familiar with. You felt a tap on your shoulder and looked over it to see Urogi smiling at you.

You mouthed the word, "What?"

He murmurs, "I ain't bring a pencil with me today do you have one?"

What kind of student doesn't bring a pencil out of all things to school? Apparently Urogi does since he doesn't have one and is asking you for a spare. You were about to tell him "no" but he gave you a pleading stare. You fell for it and begin to dig through your own backpack for a spare pencil.

"I can't believe you just show up to school of all places without a pencil. Talk about being unprepared." You quip before handing him a pink mechanical pencil.

Urogi says as he grabbed the pencil, "Hey for your information, I do bring pencils to school," He then adds, "I just forgot to put my school stuff in my backpack this morning."

"Why were they not in there?" You wondered with a slight chuckle. You found Urogi to be quite the comical person, he was like a character in your opinion.

"I use my backpack as a gym bag." He said bluntly then presses down on the eraser to eject the lead. It was then he finally noticed that the pencil you had given him was pink. "What the- why the hell did you give me a pink pencil?"

"It was the only one I had in my bag," You lied. You actually had a pencil case with tons of other colors in your bag. You just thought of a masculine man like Urogi walking around with a pink pencil would be silly.

Urogi goes to argue with you about it, but you turn your back to him and ignore him during the rest of the class period. As soon as the class comes to an end, you are gathering your things and standing up from your seat. Urogi is doing the same as you.

"Well," you sigh, "I guess this is where we part ways, Mr. Hantengu." You sling your backpack over your shoulder mimicking Urogi's posture.

Urogi chastises you, "I told you not to call me that," He then rolls his eyes at how you're copying him. "You're such a little tease."

You cover a giggle with your hand then walk away from him. Urogi stood there for a moment just to watch you walk. Your hips rotating with every step you took. He knew that this school year with you would be fun. Especially since you were a new piece of eye candy. One that he hoped to snag a date with.

You read what class was next on your schedule and you let out a groan when you saw it was calculus. Of course it had to be that. You absolutely despised calculus since it was a difficult subject for you. The walk to your designated class room was dragged on because you weren't keen on attending it. But you had to, or else you'll be in trouble on your first day at this new academy.

You crossed through the threshold of the classroom's door and made a bee-line to an empty seat. The desks were aligned into three rows of five. In the upper right corner of the room beside the closed curtained window was a head of black wavy hair laying on top of a navy blue backpack. You opt to take a seat next to the person on their right.

From the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of the person's face. You furrow your eyebrows confusedly when you saw that it was Urogi sitting there next to you. If you remember correctly, you did leave the homeroom class before him. Though when you went to get a good look at their face you saw that his features were a bit softer. He looked like he was sleeping peacefully too. His lips were slightly parted as light snores came from him. It didn't make sense to you because Urogi was definitely wide awake and talkative during homeroom class.

You then had a hunch he was doing this to annoy you. You did had the impression that Urogi was a playful individual. So without a second thought you took a hold of the backpack and snatched it from underneath his head. With a thud his head hit the table and he jolted up in his seat.

"I'm awake!" He yelped, and then looked at his surroundings. He looks to his left, and then to his right. He sees you holding his backpack in your grasp and surprisingly he asks you in a soft voice, "I-I didn't sleep during the whole class again did I? Oh... that's so embarrassing." he covers his face with his hands.

You snicker at his confusion, and you revealed, "You didn't sleep through the whole class. You still have like three minutes before the class begins." You return to him back his backpack.

He takes the backpack and slides it in between his legs underneath the desk. "Oh... well I guess that is nice to hear." He sighs, and griped, "I just wish the school day would be over already. The fact that my first period class is this is absolutely dreadful."

You snort, "You and me both buddy."

There was something odd about Urogi. He was lacking that cheerful strong tone and instead had a somber soft voice. You didn't point it out though. You just assumed that maybe calculus was as much as his least favorite subject as it was yours. Then again calculus class couldn't possibly change a whole person's attitude right? ...Or could it?

You ignore the now sorrowful Urogi and go to focus on your attention on the class beginning. The teacher saw that you were a new student and asked that you introduce yourself to the class. To which you did, you stated your name and the previous school you had came from. Some people raised eyebrows when they heard you say you originated from Kimetsu Academy. Their rival school.

In calculus class, the teacher had given each student including you, a worksheet with formulas to answer. Once the teacher told you all that this worksheet would be timed and based on how many correct answers you got you had all started on it. The teacher did mention that a classmate could help a classmate.

You saw "Urogi" reaching into his backpack and take out a wooden pencil. You narrow your eyes at him and sneer, "You're such a liar." He turned his head to you with a bewildered expression and you continued, "I gave you a pencil during homeroom when you had one this whole time!"

He had a frown on his face as he answered you, "You did not... give me a pencil."

You curled your lips at the male and turned your attention to the worksheet that you needed to complete. He stared at you still confused. As far as Aizetsu knew, he never met you and didn't see you in his homeroom class at all. He looks down at the worksheet he was given; the formulas on the page was intimidating to him. He winced when he saw the numbers on the page slowly shift and jump around. He brought a hand up to his hair, and started pulling at his locks.

You could hear some grunting come from the man beside you. You gave him a side-eye while he was reading the piece of paper almost fearfully. His teeth were clenched, eyebrows furrowed, and a frown was on his lips. He looked pitiful compared to the charismatic man he was earlier.

While you weren't entirely good at calculus, you did recognize the formulas shown to you and could do them. You figured that Urogi struggled worse than you. A part of you wanted to just ignore him and let him suffer, however that sympathetic conscious you had seemed to overpower.

You sighed reluctantly as you scoot your desk closer to him and slam a hand on his paper. "Which one are you having problems with?" You questioned. Aizetsu glanced at you and you looked down at his paper. You emphasized, "You didn't even fill the first one out?"

He flinches, "Please don't yell at me," he then adds in a soft murmur, "I already get yelled at enough from Sekido."

You don't catch what he says rather you help him with his worksheet while at the same time completing yours. You only assisted him with the problems that you were familiar with and left him with the rest of the questions.

"Thank you..." he says softly to you, "For helping me with this. I have a learning disorder and things like this are hard for me."

You want to just pull him in for a hug and tell him it would be okay. To give him comfort. For him to reveal to you of his learning disability, you thought it was peculiar since you don't know him very well. However you chose to again ignore it. You suck your teeth and dismissively wave a hand to him. "No need to thank me. I just didn't want to see you struggle by yourself."

Aizetsu was surprised by your honesty and your kindness. It was normal for most people to reject helping him with calculus. The teacher would offer help the best they could however they couldn't just do it all of the time. Thus that left Aizetsu struggling with answering the equations all on his own. It was people like you who made him think that maybe there are nice people out there. You were admirable.

He lets a smile grow on his face, "Well you are rather kind."

You brush away the butterflies that you get in your stomach. He was admittedly cute the way he was acting with you now. You scoot your chair away from his desk to give him room. Soon enough the class ended, putting an end to both of your disdain for it. The bell rang signifying the conclusion, and you start to gather your things.

"E-Excuse me... I was wondering if maybe you'd... well... would you be interested in tutoring me with this?"

You look over your shoulder to see him standing there looking hopefully at you. Your eyes look him up and down, and Aizetsu felt as though you were going to ridicule him. He shifts his feet nervously, anticipating for you to reject his request. You surprise him again when you tell him yes.

"You will?" He asks.

You nod your head and respond, "I will give you my phone number so we can set up a time and place where we can do it." You take out a strip of paper from your backpack and write down your phone number along with your name to give to him.

Aizetsu delicately takes the paper away from you with a shy yet appreciative smile on his face. He goes to speak, but you interject, "That doesn't give you the right to bombard me with messages. Do you understand?" You point a finger at him.

He shake his head and stammers, "I-I won't do that to you. I promise."

You just grunt then walk away from him. He watches as you exit the classroom as he stands there holding onto the piece of paper written with your phone number on it. This was new for him. He had never achieved in getting a girl's phone number by himself before. He'd had to rely on Urogi or his older brothers for that. Aizetsu neatly folded the paper into a square and safely put it into the zipper pocket of his backpack.

As you were in the hallways of the building you read which class was up next for you. General chemistry. Nice another class that you definitely struggled in. Chemistry to you was similar to math. It involved numbers, letters, and most importantly you were dealing with elements. You roll your eyes, following the map to the classroom. The room was located on the third floor, so you had to walk up three flights of stairs just to get there. That was just strange. Who would keep a chemistry class on the top floor of a building? Didn't they know a thing about fires?

You cross through the threshold of the door into your second period class. As you take a seat at a vacant desk you see that there is a backpack with a leaf keychain sitting beside you. You hear the sound of a man laughing, and look at where it's originating from. You see him again. What the fuck? Does he have like every class with you or something? He's apparently laughing at something a girl is saying to him and for some reason this irks you.

You won't admit that you're jealous that "Urogi" is showing another girl attention. You refuse to. Your pride is way too high. Plus you've decided that he is no longer worth your time.

He says good bye to the girl at the classroom door before going over to the seat that is next to yours. Just great. You managed to sit beside him out of all people, and now you couldn't move because the other seats were being filled up. Looks like you'll have to endure his presence during this class. Hopefully this will be your last time seeing him for the day.

Karaku shakes hands with his male classmates, and winks at the female students. He knew he was a total flirt, but he didn't actively pursue a woman. In his belief, the right one would fall right into his lap when the time is right. That's why when girls would come up to him with love letters and confessions he would have to turn them down. He was popular among the women. Even the female teachers had somewhat of an attraction to him.

He was an handsome young man. He had long wavy black hair, tan skin, and a body that people described as being sculpted by the Greek gods. Plus he was the tallest out of all of his brothers. He stood at a towering 6"2' packed with beefy muscles. His smile was what brought out his looks since he had canines. Just recently he had gotten a tongue piercing to amplify his charm.

The young tan male took a seat next to you, not paying you attention and went out to take out his notebook for Chemistry class. This agitated you and you sneered, "You should give me back my pencil and my phone number you damn jerk."

Karaku thought you were talking to someone else and didn't respond to you. Although when you say, "Hey you asshole, I'm talking to you." he looked at you from the corner of his eye.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes you can," you snapped, "I want my phone number and my pencil that I loaned you. If you're such a big hot shot around here then you don't need any part of my help with tutoring." You stuck out your open palm up hand expectantly.

He thought this was just a game to test him. He played along and leaned in close to your face, "What if I don't want to give it away? I think I earned the right to keep it."

You start to fume and you groan frustratedly into your backpack. He just chuckles at your reaction, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back in his chair. Karaku didn't know who you were, but there was something about your attitude that attracted him. You were feisty and he liked that. Most girls would throw themselves at him, but you didn't do that.

Albeit he was confused about why you were hassling him about a pencil and phone number. He never met you until now!

The chemistry teacher began teaching the class and showing you all how to add compounds. As you were listening to the lesson, Karaku nudged you with his elbow. He asks in a whisper, "You never told me your name stranger."

"You already know my name you idiot. We're in the same homeroom and first period!"

"No I don't. I don't even remember you."

Did this guy fall on his head or something? Was he dropped at birth? Also why in the hell did he keep changing clothes? Why was his voice changing was he going through puberty again?

For the second time, you guessed it was, that day you were flabbergasted. You knew that Urogi knew who you were, and he kept playing around with your mind like this. If you knew he was a pathological liar with apparently a short-term memory you would have avoided being interested in him. You wouldn't have loaned him your pencil and given him your phone number out of the kindness of your heart.

You snarl, "I want for you to remember this. If I ever see your face again, things for you are going to get nasty."

"Ooh~" He then remarks, "I never would have guessed a pretty thang like you would be into that." His eyes openly ogle at your figure. "Then again that skirt and those thigh-highs you're wearing tell me everything I need to know."

Your face heats up as you lean away from him. Following that you implore, "What do you mean by that?" your voice trembling just slightly.

Karaku has this sly toothy grin on his face. You could see the sharp teeth he had as well as the brief flicker of his tongue piercing. In a low smoky voice he answered, "Easy access."

Throughout the rest of the duration of class you focus your attention onto the lessons the teacher was showing you. You didn't say another word to the man that was sitting beside you. Even as he was unknowingly flicking out his tongue when he was fixated on writing notes into his book. You could smell his cologne and he smelled so good. He smelled like a roasted peach and honey. Your eyes glance at the prominent veins in his hands and arm. His fingers were long and nimble.

No you couldn't be finding him sexy. You were pissed at him!

Karaku takes a deep breath then releases it, his strong firm chest rising and falling in the fitted two tone henley shirt he wore. He slithers out his tongue and thoughtlessly wiggles it around. You were just so happened to be watching him, and he just so happened to see you from the corner of his eye. When your eyes met, you jolt and look away meanwhile he just smirked and scooted his chair closer to yours.

"Listen pretty girl, if you just want a chance with me all you have to do is ask. I will definitely make it worth your while." He places his hand on your knee, what a bold move on his part.

Though you don't buy into his act. Urogi can be a pathological liar with short-term memory loss and a damned flirtatious pervert all his life if he wanted to. You, on the other hand, was not going to be a victim to his charades.

You swat the hand that was on your knee with yours. You threatened him, "You touch me like that again, and I will suffocate you."

Karaku thought you set yourself up for what he had to say next because what you just said to him was an open door. For him to respond, "Suffocate me? Let's be honest babe, if you suffocate me with those thighs of yours, I think I'll die a happy man."

Abruptly, the teacher told you all to begin packing your things as the next bell was going to ring soon. You start to do just that. Anything to get away from Urogi and his advances. To refrain from seeing his handsome face and hearing his painfully deep sensual voice. You hop out of your chair at the same time the bell does go off. In a rush you dash out of the chemistry classroom and dart down the staircase to get to the second floor of the building. You were panting by the time you made it there. You reach into your bag to grab your schedule and your third class before your lunch break started was global history.

This was a class you could enjoy. As it talked about what you knew best which was in fact historical events from many countries. This would be your last class before your lunch break. You could do this. You read the map and luckily the classroom was located on the second floor. Great. You didn't have to be running a marathon up and down stairs.

You make your way to the classroom, you felt drained already and the day wasn't completely over yet. You begin to wonder if maybe Douma was as insufferable as Urogi. Sure, the senior student did make that backhanded comment earlier about your outfit. However, his personality was nothing in comparison to Urogi. Who, in fact, must have split personalities! Because how can someone go from being happy to sad to a flirty bastard? Also the nerve, the audacity he had to touch you on your knee like that during chemistry class! How rude.

Once again you remind yourself that this is just the third period before your lunch break. As you enter the classroom you greet the teacher that is sitting at the desk with a friendly nod and wave. You inform them that you were a new student to the school. They welcome you and ask if you were comfortable with introducing yourself when class begins. You agree to it, and then go to find yourself a seat. Unlike this time you take a seat in the center of the room rather than in a corner.

Like routine, the classroom fills up with students and you think to yourself that you won't be seeing Urogi again. You were wrong. After you had introduced yourself to the class, the teacher shortly announced there would be an assignment you all had to do in pairs. You watch as student after student found the other half to their assignment. Meanwhile you were left alone. Your eyes scan the classroom for anyone, and then you froze.

What the absolute fuck?

There he was again! He changed clothes again, and this time he didn't look to pleased to see you either. He had this scowl on his face when your eyes met his. Your mind was racing with thoughts as to why he could be so pissed off with you.

Was he angry that you rejected his advances? No, no one should look at a person as if they hated every fiber of their being like this. The way he was glaring at you seemed like he wanted to destroy you. Or was this another trick he wanted to play with you since you were after all the new student to this academy? You convince yourself that that must be it. Urogi was behaving like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, simply because you were just a new student. One minute he's a happy clam next he's a sheepish fool then he's a flirty perverted bastard, and now he was a bitter man. You come to the conclusion, that maybe it was tradition for new students to suffer pranks from him.

You weren't going to be sucker for his shenanigans.

You match the energy that "Urogi" was giving you now. Your face also changed from a look of fear to one of annoyance.

"Are you just going to stare at me all day?" He grumbled.

You shrug your shoulders walking over to the empty seat beside him and tossing your backpack onto the surface of the desk. "I don't know, Hantengu, are you going to keep following me around like a damn fly?"

Sekido didn't know how you knew of his surname, but then again he and his brothers were quite the popular guys at Infinity Academy. He suspected that you must be one of Urogi's or Karaku's little playthings. Though you had guts to call him out of his name as other students didn't do that to him. Let alone talk to him because of his callous and blunt personality.

"What the hell are you talking about woman?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't play dumb with me you jerk. First I give you a pencil when you already had one, then you keep my phone number, and you had the balls to feel on me during the last class we had together." You let out a scoff, "You're a real piece of work."

The male next to you grunted, "You're either on drugs or you lost your mind. I'm just going to assume you've lost your fucking mind, because who do you think you are talking to me like that?"

"Who do you think you are you psychopath!" You shout in a hushed tone.

Sekido growls, "I'm going to ignore you. This is just childish and pointless arguing with an imbecile like you. I'm better than that."

You now conclude that Douma was more tolerable than "Urogi" was.

The two of you sit in silence in the classroom, just working on the assignment that the teacher had given you. This was a stressful first day at a new school for you. You let out an exhausted sigh as you rub your temple, feeling a headache like no other swelling in your head. From the corner of his eye, Sekido noticed your pained expression and uncomfortable posture next to him. His eyes drift down to his backpack resting beside his feet and he remembers that he carries headache relievers whenever a migraine of his comes around. Even though you and him don't know each other, and most definitely got off on the wrong foot, Sekido's sympathetic heart couldn't bear to see you in discomfort.

You were startled when something was slammed down on the desk in front of you. A large veiny hand covering a small object before it moved away to reveal a white pill container. The brand on it was one you recognized as being used to relieve headaches. You turn your head to "Urogi" next to you, a look of shock on your face.

He curled his lips at you and folded his arms across his chest. "Take it or leave it." He grumbles.

You wanted to just sass him for speaking to you rudely, but then again you did have a headache and while he was being an asshole to you. He was generous enough to let you take a pill to get rid of your headache. So you did the smart choice of opening the pill bottle and poured two red tablets into your hand.

"Let me guess you don't even have anything to drink either?" Sekido asked you, and he grunts when you look at him with a sheepish smile. Coming to the rescue once more, he takes out a room-temperature bottle of water out of his backpack and not-so-delicately placed it on the table in front of you. "You're welcome." He said.

You took the pills along with the water and handed the pill container back to him. You were going to return the water bottle as well, but he immediately told you, "Are you dumb or something? I don't need that back! You keep it!"

"I didn't even touch it with my lips-"

"Doesn't matter. I gave it to you, so keep it." Sekido huffs.

You murmur a timid, "Okay," and take a sip of the water. Afterwards, Sekido seizes your worksheet and looks at it. You go to take it away from him, but he holds a hand out to your face pushing you away. His narrowed eyes reading over the questions you had completed. He growls as he squeezes the sheet of paper in his hand.

He hisses, "This... the answers you've written for these questions are wrong." He tosses the paper back in front of you and scoots his chair closer to yours. He points a finger at one of the odd numbered questions you answered. "It's 1918 when the Spanish flu devastated Japan, not 1819. And this, is not the correct emperor of Japan during the Taisho era. The emperor was Yoshihito Taisho. It's literally in the name, damn it."

As he was continuing to show you the correct answers, you sat there gawking at him and was admiring him. While you did have to admit "Urogi" was handsome, but with how close he was to you now you could see the small details he had on his face. Long thick eyelashes, pointed nose, bold eyebrows and a stronger chiseled jawline that flexed each moment he clenched his jaw. Not to forget he had gorgeous tan skin. You could smell a light hint of cinnamon emanating from him.

You were so lost in staring at him that you didn't see him stop lecturing you until he snapped his fingers in front of your face. "Huh?" you sounded.

Sekido frowns, "Did you not listen to a word I said? I corrected your work for you, woman."

Your eyes look down to the crumpled sheet of paper that was now covered in red corrective marks and then back to him. Shockingly, at least to Sekido, you kindly smile at him and say, "Thank you for your help."

He grunts, "I'm helping you out because I don't want to get a bad grade on this assignment."

"You know you don't have to make excuses and reasons to justify your actions. If you're doing a kind act out of the kindness of your heart, then an explanation isn't needed." You then add, "I guess I should say I'm sorry for acting mean towards you too today. I didn't mean to yell and insult you like that. I was irritated because you took away a pencil, my phone number, and flirted with me during our last few classes."

Sekido's eyebrows raised and he whispers, "Last few classes?"

You either ignore it or you don't hear it. Either way you continue, "So you can keep my phone number and my pencil if you really want it that badly. Though I think pink makes you look silly, Urogi." You giggle.

'Urogi?' He thinks.

The bell rings signifying the end of the third period class and your lunch break. You gather up your belongings and wave goodbye to "Urogi" before you exit the classroom. Sekido feels butterflies in his stomach as he watches you walk away. While you were in his eyes a hothead for arguing with him, he knew you had a soft side and now he believes that he has one too. He gathers his things and makes his way to the cafeteria.

On his way there he grouped up with his brothers in the hallway. Each of them looked to be in a good mood. Shockingly, Aizetsu was smiling as he walked with a perk in his steps. Sekido grunts as he lead the other three to the cafeteria.

"...You should have seen her Karaku, I think you really would have liked her. She had the prettiest sparkling eyes. Her body is a literal work of art. Like Leonardo Dicaprio made it himself." Urogi told his identical twin, his arms folded behind his head as they walked.

Aizetsu interjected, "I think you meant Leonardo Da Vinci, Urogi."

"Whatever 'Zetsu. Why do you look so happy anyways? You're usually in a more sour mood like Sekido." Urogi grins when he hears the eldest brother huff and sees distance himself from their group.

The blue-eyed quadruplet softly says, "Hm, well... I-I got a girl's p-phone number?"

"What?!" Karaku and Urogi both exclaim.

Karaku points a finger at Aizetsu, "You? You got a girl's phone number and without our help? How?!"

Urogi snickers, "I bet he probably paid to get her number."

"Y-You're wrong! She gave her number to me and I didn't even have to ask her."

Karaku awes, "No way..." he smirks proudly at his younger brother and folds his arms across his broad chest, "Well I'll be damned Aizetsu. Looks like you do have that dawg in you."

Urogi disagrees, "He don't have shit. I betya' he's lyin' and this is all in his scrambled head."

While the three of them bicker with each other, Sekido calmly piles food on his tray at the buffet bar. His brothers follow suit, but still carried on with their conversation.

"Was she in one of your classes Aizetsu?" asked Urogi while he took a bowl of beef curry onto his plate.

Aizetsu nods his head and hums, "Yes. She was in my first period class this morning. When she woke me up, she claimed that I stole her pencil during homeroom class, but I don't even remember seeing her in there." He places a scoop of rice on his tray.

Karaku implies with a grin, "You're always sleeping during your morning classes so I bet 10 out of 10 you were asleep."

"I only sleep during my first period class Karaku."

As the four of them were done getting their food, Urogi turned to Aizetsu and asked, "If she's right here in this cafeteria point her out."

The second youngest of the brothers looked out into the crowd of people in the cafeteria. Aizetsu's eyes searched for you in the midst of the room. His lengthy time it was taking to find you made his brothers suspicious of his claim.

"Aizetsu," Sekido growls, "If you think this is funny-"

"There! There she is! That's her!" Aizetsu shouted excitedly, and he pointed his finger in your direction.

The brothers all look to where he's pointing and yes. It was you. The girl from Urogi's homeroom class. The girl from Karaku's chemistry class. The girl from Sekido's global history class. It was you. A girl that gave their pathetic brother Aizetsu their number.

"Her?" Urogi exclaims.

"Her?" Karaku questions.

"Her." Aizetsu sighs.

None of the brothers, beside from Sekido, could have figured out what was going on. The eldest of the quadruplets knew. Now he understoof why you yelled at him during global history class. You were in Urogi's homeroom when you gave him a pencil, saw Aizetsu in your first period when you gave him your phone number, then met Karaku in second when he was flirting with you, and lastly you met him and you assumed Sekido was all three men combined. You most likely didn't come to the fact that they were all quadruplets. This all made sense to Sekido now, why you called him Urogi before you departed earlier.

This was going to be great because not only did his younger brothers have a crush on you, so did he! He just didn't want to admit it. Sekido scoffs and turns his head away from your direction. His brother, Aizetsu, carries his tray with him while he shuffles to your empty table. His three brothers following closely behind him.

Aizetsu greets you, "H-Hi Y/N."

You look up from scrolling on your phone and to Aizetsu standing there not noticing the other men behind him. "Oh it's you again... and you changed back to your first period's clothes."

He frowns at your words, "I've been wearing this all day."

That's when you say with a snide, "Uhh...no you have not? Each class we were in you would change your clothes and act like a totally different person."

That's when the other brothers emerged from behind Aizetsu and they were looking at you pointedly. You finally notice them and your heart pounds when you see that every "Urogi" from your classes was its own person. There's "Urogi" from homeroom, the "Urogi" from chemistry, and the "Urogi" from global history. You stand up from your seat and pointed a shaky finger at all four of them. You could feel your heart drop into your stomach.

"W-What... so there's four of you Urogi?"

The real Urogi shrugged his shoulders and wiggles his hand while saying, "Eh... yes and no. Yes because they are all my older brothers and we're quadruplets. No, because they're all nothin' compared to the original." He grins.

Karaku adds, "And our names are all not Urogi. I'm Karaku." He delicately takes a hold of your hand placing a gentle kiss on the top of it. A sly smile on his lips, "It's nice to meet you."

The blue-eyed sibling introduced himself, "I'm Aizetsu,"

Then Sekido grunted, "Sekido."

You break out into a nervous fit of laughter as you stood there with your hand still in Karaku's hold. You blurted, "Ahaha! You've got to be joking! I don't want to believe it, but it's right here in front of me. S-So you're all brothers?!"

Karaku chuckles, "You got that right babe!"

Suddenly you could feel yourself getting weak and your skin becoming clammy. Sekido sensed it first because he told Karaku, since he was still holding your hand, to catch you before you fell. You did. You fell right into Karaku's arms, unconscious after the reveal of Urogi just being a quadruplet. The brothers, mainly Aizetsu and Urogi, fret over what to do with you. Sekido ordered them all to go to the nurse's office with you being carried in Karaku's arms. Urogi was jealous that he got to do it and not him.

He was also irritated that he found out, while you were unconscious, all of his brothers had an interest in you. All of them, including Sekido, which was strange to Urogi because he thought Sekido was virtually unsociable. It just wasn't fair, it wasn't right. He had met you first, and he had first dibs on you. Had they ever heard of the bro code? Apparently not.

"Oh I feel terrible that she's like this because of us. Do you think she's ever going to wake up? Poor thing." Aizetsu was worried for your wellbeing as he stood the closest to the cot you laid in and stroking your hair.

Urogi clenches his fist at Aizetsu and snarls, "You get your hand off of her! Don't touch her like that! She's mine!"

As soon as he heard that, Karaku objected, "Sorry to burst your bubble Urogi and 'Zetsu, but she's mine." He then adds, "She would want to be with a real man, not with a little kid."

"We're the same age you idiot!" Urogi yells at him.

"Didn't Sekido mention that she said you were inappropriately touching on her during class?" Aizetsu recalls and then he continues, "I think she is deserving of someone who will be gentle with her rather than an inconsiderate pervert." He side-eyes his older brother.

"Why you-"

Sekido interrupts Karaku by hitting him with a backpack. Then he repeats the action to Urogi and Aizetsu. Aizetsu whines in protest since he didn't actually get hostile like the other two. Sekido growls at for them to shut up and pointed out that you were waking up on the bed. They all turned their attention to your figure, stirring on the bed and your eyelids fluttering. You opened your eyes to see the four of them surrounding you on the bed.

You let out a sigh and cover your eyes with your arm. You lament, "How long was I out?"

"Ten minutes." Sekido answered you.

"...So you're all quadruplets?" You changed the topic and go to sit up, but Aizetsu told you to just take it easy. Your eyes look at each one of them for the first time and see that they did had their differences. You see that Aizetsu had blue eyes, Karaku's eyes were like a green color, Urogi's eyes were hazel almost golden, and Sekido had a red undertone in his dark eyes. Urogi and Karaku looked the most similar so you assume they were identical twins.

Karaku responds to your question, "Yeah we're quadruplets, but me and Urogi here are identical twins. The rest of us are fraternal."

You nod your head then sit up on the bed again. You feel slightly better than before. "So..." You heard Urogi say, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Just as they were going to chastise him, you promptly replied with a happy smile, "Yes, I do have a boyfriend!"

"What?!" The quadruplets exclaim.

"He goes to Kimetsu Academy, though, he doesn't go to this school of course. I plan on seeing him after my day is over." You explain to them while getting out of the bed and grabbing your backpack. "You can keep my number, Aizetsu, if you ever need help with calculus."

The brothers are appalled to find out that you had a boyfriend. This whole time you were a taken woman. They watch you leave and then decide to go about their day. It was hurtful for them to have to respect your relationship despite being so enamored with you. It was also even more painful when they discovered that afternoon your boyfriend was none other than Kyojuro Rengoku.

What a pity.

notes: this is finally finished! omg this took me forever to do. i thought i was going to have to deny this request but i think it came out pretty good! and do you guys like the new layout for the hantengu quad squad series? lol made by yours truly. leave feedback and reblog please lovelies!

© 2023 demiesworld. pls do not plagarize or repost on other sites without permission.

[floralcyanide]

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐀 𝐕𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 • 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫

Part Three

Roman Bridger x AFAB!Reader

The day Roman first laid eyes on you, he knew he had to have you. There was something about you that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and usually, he was good at reading people off the bat. But you were a different story. Naturally, you only opened up when necessary, not letting people in if you didn’t have a reason to. So you were guarded, and Roman didn’t like that. He wanted to worm his way into your life, no matter what it took.

If that took delving into his twisted past again in order to get to you, so be it.

AFAB - (assigned female at birth) someone who is born female but can identify with she/her or other pronouns. reader pronouns are gender neutral, so people who use any pronouns can read, but female anatomy will be used and described in this fanfiction eventually.

warnings: brief descriptions of murder, nsfw, beginning signs of obsession and yandere behavior, perhaps an innuendo at the end who knowsss...

word count: 976

author's note: I am so sorry for the wait!! I got sick this past week with something?? and had to go to the hospital and all that jazz. fun times. I also wrote this instead of working on my finals because I make good decisions, obviously. I'm sorry it's short, but the next chapter will likely be long because things might happen... hmmm.... also enjoy a look inside Roman's head in this chapter. I might do more of that if you all like it!

series masterlist | masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

Pretending to be an adoring fan of Cotton and getting him to relax was all too easy. Getting him to panic, though? Even easier and twice as fun. Cotton and Roman’s brief yet daunting conversation over the phone gave Roman that familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. Slaughtering Cotton and his little blonde girlfriend was bringing back that urge- that desire to kill that had been for so long shoved away. It had taken residence in the back of Roman’s mind for years now, only to bare its teeth again at the thought of anyone harming you. 

You, Roman thought as he plunged his knife into Cotton, you are so special. I hardly know anything about you, but I know you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I did this for you, Y/N. You thought I wouldn’t hear that he spilled coffee on you? Burned you? Then got a little too close to you? Cotton is not a good guy, Y/N. He’s not a nice guy like me. I can take care of you and love you.

Roman somewhat cringes inwardly at how obsessive he is becoming over you. But he can’t help it. He’s got mommy issues, after all. He serves Cotton one final blow that sucks the light out of his eyes quickly. Roman sits on his knees momentarily, wiping the blade clean of blood before standing back up and hurriedly leaving the apartment. 

It’s dead silent in Roman’s condo as he lays in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling blankly. His hands are resting on his chest as he focuses on his breathing, trying his best to fall asleep. But it’s been two hours with no avail. Roman’s mind begins to wander to you like always. It’s only been a month of knowing you exist, but it’s been an excellent month for Roman. Other than him realizing that killing off Cotton could mean bad things for the movie. But at this point, he only cares about his own film because you’re in it, even as an extra. However, he’s asked John Milton about a dozen times already if you could have a role, and he’s said no every time. Roman won’t give up on you, even if he has to kill someone else. Maybe he’ll go for Jennifer or Angelina since they have good roles. You deserve those roles more than they do, in Roman’s opinion. 

Eventually, Roman falls asleep, and the following day rolls around all too soon. He clambers out of bed once he realizes he’s got about 20 minutes to become presentable and get to the studio. Roman runs a wet comb through his hair before hurriedly brushing his teeth, searching his closet for a button-up in your favorite color. He figured that out quite easily, as you often wear the color. After spitting out the toothpaste and pulling the shirt on, Roman examines himself quickly before bolting out of his condo. Traffic is, of course, hellish on the way to the studio, but Roman makes it a reasonable time. He’s about 10 minutes earlier than usual, surprisingly. 

When Roman reaches his office, he starts reviewing the current script and seeing how he could sneakily revise it to fit your style and acting methods. He’s picked up on some things about you so far, such as how intensely you can become someone else, even if they’re a background character. You express emotion in such a beautiful way, too. God, Roman could eat you alive. You were perfect in his eyes. And when you walk into his office during his revision session, he swears he’s still in bed dreaming.

“Hey, uh, Roman?” you scratch the back of your neck nervously, standing in the doorway.

“Yes, Y/N?” Roman asks with a smile.

“I was wondering if there were any updates to the script for the extras. I know you’ve been rewriting things quite a lot, so,” you pause, trying not to sound too bitchy about it, “Not that it’s a bad thing, I just want to be prepared.”

Roman chuckles with a casual nod, trying to seem collected, “Everything is still the same. But I’m still trying to put bugs in some ears about you. You have a real talent, even if you don’t see it.”

You brush some hair from your eyes, “Roman, I appreciate you trying, but I’m fine with just being an extra. It’s what I’ve been doing for years, and I don’t see that changing.”

Roman shakes his head, “You won’t know until you try.”

You stare into his eyes for a moment, and his gaze lingers. 

“You know what,” Roman says, not breaking eye contact, “How about we meet for coffee later, and you can look over the main script and see what you think? I’m revising it and need some feedback. Is that okay with you?”

You bite your lip, surprised Roman would ask to see you outside work. Your stomach erupts into nervous butterflies at the thought.

“Sure, I’d love to,” you nod, “See you at the parking lot after we wrap?”

“Of course,” Roman smiles, “See you then.”

You turn to leave Roman’s office, and he unashamedly watches your ass as you exit. God, he thinks, if I could only have you for one night to show you that you don’t need anyone but me. You’d be wrapped around my finger. Begging for me every chance you had. Roman has to shake his head in order to get the image of your ass bent over for him out of his imagination. He needed to focus on work again so he could have something to show you later. 

Roman wanted to show you more than the script, though. But he needed to figure out how to get under your skin. He thinks he knows just how to do it, too. 

taglist:

@bridgergf @crinimalmindsfan13 @oddlittleminx @axen-gers @alwayslilithnevreve @belovedtylerrr @bonbekahsfav @elliotss @jokersgrf @snazzynacho

[biblicallyaccuratefour]

Blog intro post...

Hello, lads, lassies and fellow letter mafiosos and attack helicopters! This is an intro post made by the man behind the man, under the table, Yuri! I'mma just cut to the chase-

(FREE PALESTINE! 🇵🇸)

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕤 𝕦𝕡!!!: Ask me for permission to draw my characters if you plan to make an artwork that is beyond SFW. This is a safety measure.

Also, please, please, PLEASE don't refer to me as she/her. I don't even know why I have to emphasise this because I made it clear that I use he/him and they/them.

✨About me✨:

Age 16 (Bday on 22/04)

Transmasc (They/them and he/him)

Irish-Ukrainian, and a raging polyglot (I know Ukrainian, English, French and Irish)

I am pretty much a tired, unstable and a lazy boi-

I am autistic, which explains a lot, lol

I post multifandom content, whatever I feel like posting

I kin quite a few characters, mainly Five and Colress, hhhhhh-

~*•°✦𝕐𝕦𝕣𝕚'𝕤 𝕂𝕚𝕟 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥✦°•*~

☆ Five 📚 (XFOHV/BFDI)

☆ Lucifer 🐤 (Hazbin Hotel)

☆ Colress ⚙ (Pokémon)

☆ Test Tube 🧪 (Inanimate Insanity)

☆ Papyrus 🍝 (Undertale)

☆ Spamton 💲 (Deltarune)

☆ Catnap 💤 (PPT cartoon only)

☆ ENA 🎭 (ENA)

☆ Airy 💻 (hfj ONE)

☆ Ingo & Emmet 🔲🔳 (Pokémon)

☆ Caine 🎪 (TADC)

⚠️DNI list⚠️:

Bots of any kind

Paedophiles, zoophiles, necrophiles and those with fetishes

Proshippers, comshippers and e.t.c

Racists, homophobes, transphobes, ableists and any other people who discriminate

Don't ask me for money through my asks. I don't have money.

If you happen to be one of the people that are listed and interact with me, you'll be promptly blocked.

✅What I will/can post📝:

Headcanons

Fanart

Fanfiction

Reblogs

Art or other material with light gore, sex references and jokes, violence and dark topics. (Will have a content warning, so be aware)

Shipping

Vent posts

Kinnie stuff & me simping for fictional characters hhhhhhhh

❎What I won't/can't post📝:

NSFW, heavy gore, discriminatory content (That's it, really-)

There's a few more things I will clarify on, just to make sure I don't rub anyone the wrong way;

Even though my nationality is Ukrainian, I will allow Russian bloggers to interact.

Requests are always open, and I may not answer all of your asks, as I am lazy- TωT)

Reblogs are highly encouraged here. I want more people to see my content as much as the next bloke on Tumblr.

If there is harassment going on, I will report the people involved in said harassment, as this has happened recently with fellow bloggers.

✨Cool people you should follow✨:

@justanapplenothinghere (my pookie /p/aff)

@yari-saber (cool big sis /p)

@crispysweetss (creates the most delicious artworks /silly)

@static-errorcode

@slayedfrr (CEO of 810)

@ikintwosm (another awesome friendo, creates yummy art /silly)

@lemonpie45 (another pookie of mine /p/aff)

@zoomigummi

@bespectacled-bookwyrm

@akalikestodraw

@aft-3-r-gl-0-w (Slay all day, girlypop /p)

@liliadrawingstuff (girly, I love your art so much)

@katbam

@sloppypears-ash-sg

@chaoscupcak333 (Another pookie who's silly /p/aff)

@icy-saturday (Got really cool fanfics and art :0)

That's pretty much it. Now, enjoy the silly content that will be posted on my blog! ^^

Faux's ask blog (rp): @ask-faux-integer

Coda's blog (rp): @ass1stant-c0da

Side/Reblog blog: @biblicallyaccurate4reblogs

Janitor AI profile

Character AI profile (taking requests for both Janitor and Character AI)

My Discord user: yuri_underthetable

My Pronouns Page: Yuri_Akur0ma

(Ref sheets under the cut-)

Dividers made by @chachachannah

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

Non-Binary Vox headcannons because it's Pride Month and I am ANNOYING!!!!!!!!!!

Like I've said before, in my headcannon Vox is AMAB non-binary and is okay with basically any pronouns/gendered terms

That being said he isn't really a fan of it/its just because(I am projecting this headcannon is entirely me projecting) he already has some w e i r d feelings about basically being an object, w/ the TV head and all, and finds them dehumanizing

It took them awhile to get comfortable with using femme-adjacent terms because, despite genuinely liking them, the toxic masculinity of a repressed queer person from the 50s could probably power an entire city block-(assuming homophobia still exists in the Hellaverse? I think I read somewhere that it doesn't but still)

Also the misogyny. I know very little about the 50s, but from what I DO know, misogyny was running fucking RAMPANT back then

That being said, the only person that Vox still doesn't allow to use femme-adjacent terms on them is Val, because Val is. Himself. And makes it really fucking weird-

This moth has MISOTHYNY /ref

"You can refer to me as a woman when you start BEHAVING YOURSELF >:("

Otherwise though Val is actually very supportive of Vox's identity because. It's Val. No way in HELL that man is any type of queerphobic hAVE YOU SEEN HIM!?!?!?!?

Part of why she chose the name Vox when she was establishing herself in Hell is because of the enate enby urge to name yourself some random, cool sounding word

Doesn't matter wether you've realized it or not, the desire will Always Be There

Velvette's the one that told Vox about the concept of non-binary after they went on a drunken rant about their Weird Gender Feelings while the two were hanging out

Also hopping on a hc trend I've seen a couple times- Vox's demon form is sexless, which is part of what really got him thinking about his gender in the first place

Like they had never really considered they could be anything but a man before, but the lack of any real defining masculine features besides their voice caused some really conflicting feelings-

Honestly I think Vox probably has a LOT of really conflicting feelings abt her demon form in general but that's kinda off topic

The reason they had never considered being anything but a man is because they had never actually had the words to describe the feeling of not being a man OR a woman before, and found it easier to just dismiss any thoughts along those lines as insecurities(something they already have a plethora of) & lean harder into their masculinity to cope

But then he died, and all the features he was using as a safety net got stripped away, forcing him to confront all the Weird Gender Feelings

Except not really because they just ended up pushing them down for several more decades lmfao

She generally prefers presenting more masculine because it's what he's the most used to + it's good for brand consistency, but she's DEFINITELY experimented with more femme presentation before

Vox's appearance is very dependant on how they want others to percieve them rather then what they actually want to wear at any given moment. Anything they leave the house wearing is specifically calculated to keep up their image, so that kind of experimenting is just limited to the comfort of their own home.

Aaaaaaaand that's all I got for now. This headcannon is very special to me(because I am projecting. This is, at it's core, me projecting. The only parts that aren't projecting are the bits that are reliant on the cultural context Vox comes from and them being AMAB-), so I'll probably talk about it again. Eventually. But for now these are the thoughts I've actually managed to put into words lmao

[weaselbeaselpants]

For those curious, I don't got dirt or shit on VivziePop. As I've made clear before I followed her back in 2009 and I talked to her like on devintart and tumblr 1 or 2 times. No, I don't remember what was said between us really or exactly. The tumblr blog I remember hearing back from her is long dead so I have no receipts.

I kinda lost interest in her because her fanbase was way too intense and mean in 2014 (no idea about any of the Dollcreep drama), and because I was also in a soft antisjw phase myself then and reading BadWebcomicsWiki - I saw her being talked about all throughout the forums on that hellsite up and until 2017. I also saw the completely different forum posts made there about Hazbin at the time- which os of course how I learned about the Dollcreep fiasco, frootrollup1, and Angel Dust r@pe art someone did of Viv.

If you interested and/or curious about any personal anecdotes I can remember from the best of memory -these are NOT facts, though I'm happy if anyone else can back them up if u also have memories of this- I can list those out:

-I found Viv through her fanart first and specifically her fanart of Shane Acker's 9. I loved Viv's fanart- it was always so distinct in her own style but still recognizable. Anyone else in the 9 fandom remember that "design a beast" contest deviantart had? Yeah she took place in that. She also did artwork of the stitchpunks inspired by Kinkei's chibi-pinup style. They were not as sexy as that would have you believe. She did fanart for Rango, Adventure Time, Regular Show, Rio, and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. Also remember her begrudgingly liking Tangled after the fact because it wasn't 2D like Princess and the Frog was.

-The first time I saw Viv's characters in comic form it was in a comic where it was Halloween and the ZP gang (Zill, Kayla, Jack, Spam, and Vanex) were trick or treating and got stuck in some dark twisted version of their home. Isn't this the plot to the Invader Zim Halloween episode?

-Ickle!Viv was pretty skilled at drawing animals. Personally I think she still is but this was specifically the thing which stood out about her to me. I really love when she drew/draws animals. I also actually think her creatures look genuinely good, especially the dragon looking ones.

-Viv was ALWAYS so clamoring and adoring of her fandoms, especially animated stuff. Even on deviantart, animation fans are cynical and snarky so it was nice to see someone with their own established style be into movies that other people would mock you for as a teenager or god forbid an adult. Didn't make you feel so alone.

-I saw Viv's ZP gang develop in style from 2009-2013 and I gotta say I liked her og cast so much more when they were teenytiny and children. Zill just looked better then.

-Speaking of Zill, before I saw one of her posts getting mad at people who called Zill a "neopet"...I said her style reminded me of neopets. I was 12! I didn't know and also I hadn't gotten to that one doodle in her gallery at the time where Zill and 2009!Viv were cursing out this blob for calling him that.

-I also personally saw Alastor develop from out of those days, or at least the character who would become Alastor. It was the red black, buck-looking deer from 2006-2008ish who's disc Viv said was "the evilest character in all of zoophobia!!" I know she liked the directtovideo disney sequels and really liked Bambi II. I'm not convinced Alastor and Autumn don't exist souley because of Bambi II.

-I have no proof of it happening on my end because I ended up deleting a shit ton of crap on my old deviantart out of embarrassment and I think Viv deleted her posts about it. But a distinctly remember an artist in around 2011/2012 w I was really into art trades did a trade with me where they drew my 9 oc, in spite of us really not connecting in any particular way or being 'close'. They worked in traditional medium and had he/him pronouns and their art was so obviously inspired from Viv's. It wasn't traced, though- just very Viv-inspired.

I remember watching Viv and also that guy when suddenly Viv and Faustisee made a huge callout graph showing the artstyle and characters that had been stolen from her and she showed that guy's work. I also distinctly remember saying in Viv's journal abt the callout something along the lines of "this is bad, but, this guy is a friend of mine [rlly barely mutuals], he didn't mean it". To which Viv replied with something like: "then tell ur friend that what he's doing is bad >:c". So I did and that's when he told me he'd been told enough by her base how to feel and that he was leaving dA. And he left. and nuked his entire gallery, including his part of art trade, which made finding the proof of this encounter even harder to track down. Because he was no longer there, I deleted the piece I did for him as part of my mass embarrassment deletion.

-There was one other encounter I had personally' with Viv that I do remember and it's only because she was actually friendly to me and I liked that coming from my what was, at the time, a fav artist: I like the 2012 Frankenweenie remake and was really incensed back in the day that people weren't liking it because it is a ymmv-case. One of those people happened to be Viv and I def remember messaging her about how "I disagree with you, hmf" and then having INSTANT REGRET and suddenly spamming her with this way too personal "I'm sorry please don't hate me"-ventrant thing and, for all I know the Viv stans can be overly apologetic, I really do think it was my indiagnosed OCD/ADHD talking there. Anyway, what was sweet of her to do even in a passing way was she was all "it's okay. you didn't upset me but lol yeah ur not changing my take on frankenweenie either".

Viv describes herself as "being everyone's friend" and really- where there are a lot of points now that I don't think she cares if she is, most of the time I think the problem is she doesn't know how mean or backhanded she is. She really does strike me as the kind of person who never grew out of 2000s-2010s highschool and that petty thing were you get angry and lash out at others behind their backs but then sweet up after that, and where you think lovebombing = being genuinely appreciative. And yeah, that's still abusive and volatile. Because, and this is all from a decade ago and an antidote I only recall because it was Viv, but I truly didn't get the feeling that Viv thought I was beneath her or that she was trying to own me buy telling me she didn't like the movie I did. The vibe I got from her was "I don't really care about this but also I don't want you freaking out, calm down".

I rb a bunch of critical stuff (still don't like antiHazbin shit) because, and I still mean this, I do still genuinely like her style and wish I could be in her fandom w/o her stans basically gatekeeping me from being my own fan. I really am disappointed as the fan I am that Viv doesn't take better care of herself, her shows or the people working for her.

[redr0sewrites]

2024 writing wrapped !

just a silly little thing i wanted to do !!! just some stats for my fics + some of my fav writers at the end <3 im so excited for the new year !!!

Fav Fic: I love you most - Jason Todd x reader - very much a self indulgent fic, and i go back to read it when im anxious. as someone w an anxiety disorder and other mental health issues i don't talk about much on here, a lot of the time i cope using fictional scenarios and other means, so this fic just means a lot to me

Least Fav Fic: Sub!Eris Vanserra Hcs - this could have been SO. much better, and each time i see it i cringe. i remember really wanting to write this but i just,,,, couldnt, so i settled for really half assed hcs. eris vanserra is also one of my absolute favorite characters of all tiem as well, but i never write for him bc A) the acotar fandom scares me B) i can never do him justice and these hc show that

Fic w Most Notes: NNN Hcs w The Hashiras - oughh this was a pain in the ass to write but. it was worth it. nearly 8.5k notes is CRAZY to me when i thought it sucked ass when i posted it... thanks yall

Longest Fic: Decent? - not including fics w multiple parts,,, probably this

Character I Wrote Most For: easily aaravos. he was my claim to fame and still one of my biggest blorbos. i love him so much

Most Requested Character: either Vox/Lute from Hazbin Hotel, Caitlyn from Arcane, or Jason Todd. they're probably my most asked for characters even to this day

Fav Fandom to Write For: i really LOVE to write for Bnha or DC because there is SOO much interaction and reblogs WITH SPECIFIC COMMENTS TOOOO its so nice in those fandoms specifically. and the writers from those fandoms r very kind as well

Least Fav Fandom to Write For: easily a tie between acotar and tdp. for acotar its because the fandom is incredibly heteronormative to the point where people would be annoyed when i used gender inclusive pronouns in my fics, and there was just a lot of arguing over headcanons that made me super uncomfy 😭 and then for tdp people kept asking me for dragon smut over fifteen times even when i said i wouldn't write beastiality so. yk. it was Weird. i do miss it tho.

Fav Character to Write For: Aaravos because i could characterize him in my own way and basically ignore canon bc he was just. My Guy. there was a point in time where i was THE ONLY active aaravos fic writer in the aaravos x reader tag and he was literally up to my interpretation. i also ADORE writing for Alastor because as someone who might be somewhere on the ace spectrum it is WONDERFUL to experiment with the idea of a character who isn't really a fan of sex, and he's so unique and interesting to write for. i also really like writing for Sevika (even tho i have NAWT written enough for her) because she's very much my type irl, and i just. love butches so much.

Fav Unfinished WIP: probably If Only, which was an adam x reader fic that only has two parts and i never really got around to finishing it- BUT I WANTT TOOO

Fav Fic Writer(s): i could never choose just one, but here r some writers whom ive been absolutely hooked on this year !! most of these r my mutuals or just lovely people with just as lovely writing :)

@peachdues , @mostly-imagines, @flametrashira , @luca-star1ight , @rueclfer , @graveyardcannibal , @bigfatbimbo , @sniigura , @hanasnx @archangeldyke-all

obviously this is not every writer i follow as i follow so many AND I LOVE THEM ALL but these r just my top ten whom ive gone back to reread their stuff again and again !!! i adore yall and i recommend everyone check them out!!!

[deeeshka-14]

INTRO/INFO POST!!!!!

hi!! fishPun here. !!ALWAYS LOOKING 4 MUTUALS, I LOVE U TUMBLR HOMESTUCK FANDOM!! my name is Gregory or Dishka, you can call me by both, i like em equally!!! i use he/they pronouns mostly, but you can go with anything except she/her because i dont like those. im a genderfluid!! still a minor, 15 years old. knight of hope from prospit btw i am like rlly sensitive sumtimez so please be nice, also im not a native english speaker so ask me if you dont understand wtf im trying to say. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- my main fandom is Homestuck(and Hiveswap), i mostly post about it, almost all the time, and i also mostly interact to HS related blogs!! some of my other fandoms i can remember is FNAF, Heathers, NNSG, RTC, and some more things i cant remember. you can ask me anytime tho! also i REALLY like SBAHJ. im also a furry but i rarely post abt it. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- please DNI if you're a pedo/zoo, racist or a queerphobe. if you're none of those then js dont be mean and we're chill }:) ---------------------------------------------------------------------- my content is mostly my silly little drawings or things i sew/glue together/etc etc, but sometimes i do textposts with my thoughts! i dont have any specific tags, only useful tag here is "not homestuck" but i started to use it quite recently so you can't find alot of things with it rn }:') ---------------------------------------------------------------------- i wanna mention that i have a side blog(@dollfxxker88), i rarely post here and it's about weird shit abt puppets, so you can not interact to it if you dont wanna. i started it just because i wanna put these thoughts somewhere and im putting it here now just because i feel more comfortable when blogs r connected. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- feels like i told everyfin i should tell for now!!! tried to keep it short but i am really unable to just go and re-do it into being short, sorry if it's too much text. love u guys!!! glub glub

[ask-the-druggieverse]

Pinned Post / Introduction

👋Hello!! Welcome to my MAU (Multiverse AU), like my other MAU this is an Undertale Multiverse AU where instead of everyone killing each other or having issues they instead all get fucking high off their asses either occasionally or forever *cough* Error & Ink *cough*

(Click/Tap on dividers for post credits!)

(Click/Tap read more for more info) | (Click/Tap here for update log) | (TW/CW's)

Background of blog

My name's Inkyu (or Ink), I created this blog after seeing a certain Error-esc ask blog on tumblr and it being a "what if" situation and I thought "what if Error was forever high?" (there's a stupid ass shit backstory I made for it too) and then it snowballed from there, I do have an ending and certain events planned out for the ask blog but majority of the story and what happens in between the events all depend on your asks!

Please be patient with your asks! I go from oldest to newest and sometimes do multiple posts to avoid hiatus's, There will be character ask hiatus's in case I need to work on something for them or they're out of commission, but overall I'll try not to go on a story blog hiatus, so hopefully I won't have to.

Rules For Asks / Character Conditions!

There's no blacklist for asks, although there is one person I don't want interacting with me (you know who you are.) so I won't list one, but if there are askers being dick heads or.... w e i r d I will turn anon off.

You can also ask pretty much anything really even asking relationship status, I also don't care if you spam ask but just know that if you do that I'll only answer a few and move onto other asks and then come back

TBA? (we'll see...)

❌No Pro/Com/Darkship Asks. (Immediate block/If constant on anon I'm switching anon off) (Also DNI please if you're any of these, thank you ^_^;)

❌I'm not doing OC asks, however if you want to you may occasionally ask for how Ink views your OC (Ink has this silly ability to like view everyone as different stuff (I forgot how he see's Dream.... whoops))

- You can also ask to have your OC in a BG if you want!! IDM!!! (although no guarantee)

Character Conditions!

Sober

🌟Dream

🌟Swap (Recovering)

🌟Bill (Enabler)

🌟Lust (Recovering) (Takes anti-depressions)

Unsober/High/Drunk

🌙 Nightmare (Opioids / Pain Killers)

🌙Horror (Pot and maybe some more)

🌙Error (Forever weed brownie)

🌙Ink (Forever weed paint)

It's complicated...

🪐Dance (Lust helps him with his drinking problem, however sometimes he relapses)

Also Outer isn't really a main character here but for shiggles Outer does galaxy gas, if you wanna ask about him go ahead but just know that he isn't a major character and I don't have a lot planned for him :P

Doesn't abuse drugs/Sober

☀️Geno (Pain Killers)

☀️Fresh (Edibles or... idk just whatever (no injections, he refuses to do injections))

☀️Reaper (Honestly it's just whatever)

☀️Dust (Pot, it keeps him calm when he starts seeing shit)

Character Credits!

Ink (Comyet) | Geno, Error & Fresh (Lover Of Piggies/Crayon Queen) | Reaper (Renrink) | Lust (AU Community) | Dance (Teandstars / Sterrenschijnsel) | Nightmare & Dream (Joku) | Horror (Sour-Apple-Studios) | Dust/Murder (Ask-Dusttale) | Killer (rahafwabas) | Bill (AU Community) | Swap (AU Community)

Main Blog / My stuff

@inkyu (Main Blog)

I'm queer (Bi, AroAce, Poly(?), and one more thing that I'd rather not share out) and I don't really use any pronouns however if for whatever reason you cannot do that/English isn't your strong suit and you have to use pronouns I.E He/Him or She/Her or They/Them then I'll understand, You can pick whatever. But I'd prefer not being referred to thank you <3

I also use tone indictors like this (jokeing) (serious) (silly) because /j /s and etc etc are hard for me to understand/remember (I am not going to continuously look something up then forget it later(I have shit memory when it comes to something I don't care about)) (except for /j i understand that well because of those /j spongebob memes I find funny), So I would appreciate it if you use it like I do (or not, just be warned your answer might not correspond with your OG tone)

(you can also use TT's like this too /jokeing, /serious instead of the ()'s if you like using the /'s ^w^)

I also don't care if you tag any post as a ship as long as it's not a proship-esc or anything revolving around it. If you do it's an instant block, I have a horrible history with proshippers and I would rather ya'll not interact if you are one (that includes profics). (Not Threatening / Serious) ((and also cuz I find proshipping gross which also adds to horrible history))

[sapphicdib]

r u willing to give us some info abt the streamer au? You’ve mentioned it before but I’m just curious abt it tbh :D

oh I AM MORE THAN WILLING. PREPARE URSELF

so: what happens when you put the physical manifestation of ADHD into an apartment with 3 different flavors of autism, give her a successful twitch career, and blast all of them with Beam Of Insufferably Horny?

the streamer au LMFAO (putting this under a cut bc it got. INSANELY long omfg)

normally i dont rlly like human aus (they’re just not my thing) but this stupid au wormed it’s way into my heart and now i cherish it lmfao. there’s no real set plot, there’s just Situations these lil guys get into. some are soft and adorable (ie. pebbles’ first kiss with sig) or hilarious (sig’s ridiculous amount of flirting with his own chat) or just fuckin stupid (their halloween stream where they do a whole production where chat has to figure out who “killed” sig and it’s just chaos). tbh ive found myself accidentally focusing on the ragequit aspect of the au despite the entire polycule being a thing (lilypad, sunstone, traffic light, ragequit, and hurricane all happen)

i think the Main Things that sum up the au are:

Sig punched Pebbles’ transphobic (now ex) boyfriend in the face and spent a night in jail bc of it LMFAO

Pebbles and Suns meet after Sig drags Pebbles to a party at the college he attends (and Sig attended for a single semester before the whole streamer thing took off). Suns went to catholic school and is incredibly repressed and hesitant with Pebbles and Sig ends up having to instigate a lot of shit to prevent them from just fuckin. never going past hand holding.

Speaking of, Pebbs is an art major and drew all of Sig’s custom emotes. He also loves drawing everyone in the apartment, though usually keeps those drawings hidden from everyone in his sketchbooks

Wind and Sig being childhood best friends who are each others ride or die, they were each others first like, everything. The funniest one being where Wind is having a crisis bc he thinks he might be gay and Sig is just like “hm well I’m kinda a guy maybe kiss me and see if you like it?” And well. Wind has been kissing this fool for 7 years now and does not plan on stopping.

Moon is usually a moderator but does make appearances occasionally and chat loves her. Suns will not go on camera without a face mask. Pebbles was originally camerashy but ends up being in pretty much every stream after a while.

Sig refuses to tell chat his gender and thinks it’s funny watching everyone guess. If you ask/ask for pronouns he just replies with “whatever’s funniest” or “whatever makes this gay”, or if someone’s being rude about it, “whatever pisses you off most”

Sig is like. Insanely good at FPS games and holds multiple top rankings in competitive esports. Yui (Unparalleled Innocence) is one of her main rivals. It’s cute tho. They’re like. rivals who kiss.

Pebbles is Moon’s adopted brother, and has some pretty bad weakness in his hands/legs bc he had cancer as a child. They all support him a lot (Pebbles is rlly stubborn about “being okay”) and Sig does a lot of charity streams for things like forgiving medical debt and cancer research. Sig and Moon bought a huge thing of stickers to help decorate Pebbles’ crutches so he’d like them more.

Pebbles’ name is Pebbles because Moon came up with it as a nickname when they were kids, and when Pebbles came out he chose that as his name. Moon cried about it. Also I just like the whole “transmasc w a silly name” thing bc I feel like it fits him.

Sig helps Pebbles dye his hair (emo mf) but requires that if he helps she gets to put streaks of color in his bangs. It’s usually pink but sometimes she chooses a different color. Sig has the underside of his hair dyed purple. Pebbles’ natural hair color is a pretty light brown.

They all have their cats ofc!! Messenger, Hunter, Arti, and Ruffles!! They were all either strays they found or adopted from a shelter.

That’s all I can think of rn! I wanna draw their designs eventually (and I have but I don’t rlly like them anymore bc OUGHHH I haven’t drawn people in for-goddamn-ever) but yeah!! Damn this got long LMFAO

[oc-aita]

AITA for destroying someone's physical form and accidentally creating a time loop?

My family says I'm not, but I still feel guilty, so I thought I would ask for an unbiased opinion.

For some background, I (20s?, xe/xim) don't have any memories prior to being woken up in a nearly empty city on fire by a girl named B (7, she/her). She lived there but didn't know what was going on either and as I had no other leads, I decided to try starting my life over on the other side of the country. The only relevant information about that time is I met R (22, she/they) and H (24, he/him), R ended up fostering B, and I started dating R and H in a triad. Everything was quiet and going well until C (???, no pronouns) appeared.

I was the only one who could see C, and it turns out this is because C has no physical body and needed to possess someone to use C's powers. That person ended up being me, and those powers ended up wiping out the entire world by making a comet crashing into us. I know I'm not the asshole for that since I couldn't control my body but I think it's relevant. Afterwards, I woke up back in the abandoned, burning city, B standing over me with no idea of who I was, and C yelling at me, saying that this was my fault and I had trapped us in a time loop.

I didn't believe C about it being my fault since C refused to explain anything whenever I asked and had tried killing everyone, but I began trying out new actions to ensure I, R, H, and B could end up back together as a family like the first time without C getting in the way. Unfortunately, C kept interfering and finding new ways to sabotage my efforts. While I discovered a few loops ago that I have the ability to create new objects, I can barely do anything with it except make some spare change when we're out in the register. I don't even know how many times everything's been reset now. The events blur together, and R, H, and B's personalities and actions started changing in ways that indicate they've started remembering the loops.

I kept telling C to stop resetting everything because my family is becoming aware of the time loop and I couldn't hide it forever, but C kept repeating that I had created the time loop. I half heartedly asked what the fuck C meant, not expecting an actual answer since C never answered, but C finally admitted that C had destroyed the world before I lost my memories, and that I had recreated it afterwards with those powers of creation I mentioned earlier. The way I did it was kind of weird though and inadvertently made it so the world would return to its original state if anything didn't match up with how I wanted it to go. It seems the cost of doing all that was erasing my memories, extremely weakening my powers, and destroying C's body.

I don't personally remember these events and I don't want to trust C, but there’s a few factors that make me think C is telling the truth:

NOBODY knows about my creation powers as I make sure I'm alone when I use them

I already had a feeling that I had something to do with that destroyed city (C said that wasn't my doing, but I had been there when C personally destroyed it before the loop was created)

Based on how I've felt about R, H, and B during these loops, I think I would literally recreate the world for them if it had all been destroyed

The way C talked about us was different than the way C usually interacts with me (as I could directly compare; afterwards C immediately killed me and the world reset again)

Like I said, I explained all of this to R, H, and B and they said I wasn't the asshole, but I still feel horrible for subjecting them to live through all of this over and over even if I don't remember making it happen. Not to mention destroying C's body and further souring our relationship we apparently had... Am I the asshole?

[ayahimes]

# 𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 : private , single muse blog for 𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒌𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒐 from hoyoverse's genshin impact . i am not directly affiliated with hoyoverse in any way and all headcanons are inspired by myself with inspiration from ayaka's canon and japanese lore . please read rules before interacting .

[ carrd ]

                   [ est. 4/23 . ] 25 + . loved by astrid . est . beta editor

𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔 ( mobile )

01. this is a private, single-muse, multiship, & multiverse blog centered on ayaka kamisato from genshin impact. my interpretation of ayaka is entirely my own and incorporates elements from the game and japanese lore / culture . ayaka is 20 years old and canonically follows the events of her storyline in the game . she uses she/her pronouns and is demiromantic

02. i am mutuals only. i reserve the right to block anyone whom i don’t want following me. i just want to focus on the handful of threads i have here with the people I currently write with.

03. duplicate interactions : i'm capping my threads with duplicate interactions of the same muse. i will limit them to 2-3 of the same muse. crossover ships (romantic) are exclusive but other dynamics (i.e. platonic, antagonistic, etc.) are not. i just want to focus on establishing more in depth dynamics with the people I have threads with and not oversaturate those types of relationships.

04. because of school and work my activity is low and sporadic at times. i may as well be on a constant semi-hiatus because of my life outside of here. please respect that i may not always reply quickly.

05. I do not condone callout culture on this blog with some exceptions. If you reblog without tagging it then I will most likely softblock. There is only one major exception to this rule and that is m/tt. What he has done to people in various groups and fandoms of the RPC is inexcusable.

06. i generally use small/sub text formatting. i am more than happy to accommodate for anyone who would like it changed. there's nothing fun about eye strain!

07. i prefer multi-para / novella style writing, but am not limited to it. it takes me a bit longer to answer those particular threads but i’d much rather do those than one-liners. (i don’t mind one-liner interactions, but i’ll most likely not continue them after some time.) also prefer plotted threads. i don't need in depth plotting, but at least a general idea so i know which direction to go. i work better if there's a foundation for what we plan on doing.

08. there will be nsfw and triggering content on this blog. the following will be tagged appropriately. ( i.e. nsfw // , tw blood ) i have no triggers. i will not write non-con/r*pe or any underage smut.

09. I absolutely love shipping. I am not limited to only writing romantic ships but would love to invest in platonic, familial, and antagonistic ones as well.

10. drama and callouts : i'm pro-callout of very problematic people and am not afraid to reblog something if i personally think someone is truly harmful . i'll be sure to tag it as ' drama // ' but i want to make anyone following me aware that i don't tolerate a lot of the bad behavior i've seen in the rpc .

[ i will not go into detail with the issues i have surrounding the people listed below , however , please understand that i choose to keep these people at arms length as well as anyone in their close circle of friends . i don't necessarily care if people choose to interact with these individuals but if i softblock it's nothing against you and simply for my own comfort on my blog ]

- autumn / jewel / rose (housep1ant , gainsflora , selinaes, onlyallans , peculiarbeauty) + callout - jamie (thevcssel , naisetsu , kazehashira)

[polldatavisualizer]

tumblr poll results are often misleading for polls that involve more than one variable

my mission is to create representations of data collected in tumblr polls that allow the data to be interpreted meaningfully, and to improve statistical literacy on this website.

if you’re like me, you’ve probably looked at polls interrogating more than one variable, you know, ones like this:

Q: ARE YOU WEARING PANTS RIGHT NOW?

OPTION 1: Yes, and I’m a horse that uses tumblr - 0.1%

OPTION 2: No, and I’m a horse that uses tumblr - 0.7%

OPTION 3: Yes, and I’m a human - 69%

OPTION 4: No, and I’m a human - 30.2%

and thought to yourself, “man, a bar chart without any kind of normalization is a super confusing and possibly misleading way to represent these data.” or maybe that’s just me.

I feel strongly about good data viz, and I started doing this for myself because I was curious how certain poll results would look if the data were represented better. this is (mostly) a lighthearted blog.

if I reblog your poll and you want my reblog deleted, tell me via the ask box and I’ll delete it—but you need to provide a reason (“this poll was a joke” is a perfectly valid reason, as is “I don’t like your vibe”—you just have to tell me something). this is because lack of statistical literacy and bad data representation being seen by large swaths of young impressionable tumblr users genuinely concerns me a little bit. please note (before you, poll creator, get offended) that tumblr’s polling system is at fault here, not you, poll creator, trying to collect information with a very limited data collection tool.

you can submit polls you want interpretation for and I’ll do my best. rules for submitting polls:

the poll doesn’t have to have closed, but I won’t interpret the data until the poll closes. for obvious reasons.

you can submit joke polls, but I will treat them the same as any other poll.

some polls are formulated in such a way that makes the data collected inherently uninterpretable. if you submit a poll that I feel is uninterpretable, I will say so. don’t get mad, it’s my opinion.

please DO NOT submit polls from fandom-oriented poll blogs (character tournaments, the like). I just don’t care and don’t want to get caught up in drama surrounding those sorts of things.

about the mod: I’m an adult. mid 20s. my pronouns are he/him. I am white, transgender, autistic, and queer. I’m a biologist, which is a field with a serious data misinterpretation and misrepresentation problem, which is why I’ve got this big ass chip on my shoulder.

I do data viz in R using ggplot2, which is overkill for this application, but it’s fun for me, and stupid easy to crank out plots. I’ll publish all code I write for this blog. Learn R! She’s open source! She’s kinda wacky and illogical sometimes as a result but we love her!

no terf shit. no racist shit. no cop shit. no zionists. kill yourselves and go to hell. will do my best to check OPs for these things but if I reblog a poll made by someone who falls into any of these categories please let me know ASAP so I can delete and block.

[13tinysocks]

Hey, transguy here. One of my straps is named Odette and I call her by she/her pronouns. Not always a big fan of my boobs, but I'm fine having a pussy. Isn't it more transphobic to limit what trans people can do with their identity than to just let them do what they want? Is this not exactly what the people who are against our community are doing? If you want to do your own thing, do your own thing. That's what's so amazing about gender and the trans experience, you get to curate how you're seen. It's clear to me, having read your fics, that you've consulted trans people and I know you've said that you and bee are both trans multiple times. It's not cool or "valid" to police others on what they can do with their identities. In saying that the way a certain trans character is written is "wrong," or "offensive," you're hurting trans people. Someone you know could do the thing that you’re conplaining about and feel less comfortable around you for saying that you don't think they should experience gender that way, anon. Please think before you harass people online.

I don't think I could put it any better. This is TMI but I also have a strap and since it's an object and funny I call it by he/she pronouns. While he/him is typically used for men and as a lesbian I don't like men- I don't care because the pronouns don't change shit. It's still attached to my dyke partner. We're still having a gay time. We don't care.

Look I was dragged down the Kalvin Garahh pipeline when I was 14 and it messed me up. Those messages wreak of that same toxic mentality. While I know some trans people would rather be binary it's counter productive to attack not binary trans people. It's just really weird because it has also been two years and I hardly knew these people.

I'm really happy that you can tell we try.

Anyway me and my massive fucking council on transboy besties in the GC wondering what the FUCK these ppl r talking about:

[papirouge]

What jpop artists do you like? Lately ive been getting into some like perfume, and sheena ringo or even vintage ones like pink lady or candies. Ive also heard lots of good things about hikada utaru, but aparently she identifies as nonbinary now?! Does it make me petty not to want to listen to her just because of that? Like i expected better of Japan artists but i guess even they can be delulu like american artists...

Yeah, there's been a whole discourse with Hikaru Utada because she suddenly said she didn't want to be described with gendered pronouns such as "Ms." before her name (and instead use Mx. or something like that). It's interesting to note that Hikki is fluent in English, and there was hardly any chance that someone who only speaks Japanese get so nitpicky about pronouns. 'Ms' doesn't really exist in Japanese, and actually Japanese is a pretty non gendered language (even less than English). So it's really interesting how the linguistic influence of the West took a toll of her. This statement was clearly dedicated to her Western audience, the only that would consistently use pronouns to describe her. However, she never stated she wanted to he called "she/they/them" or whatever.

Music wise, I'm not really fond of her music. I really like her 'ULTRA BLUE' album (which is famous for "Passion" which was Kingdom Hearts 2 theme) and some songs here and there though. Hikki is famous for having Jpop most groundbreaking debut at only 16 years old with "Automatic" (this song aged like fine wine tbh) by 1)being one of the biggest selling record in Japan 2)shoving R&B element in her music which was very outstanding at that time. The fact that she wrote at such a young age (and still do) all her lyrics + is fluent in English gave her a very solid 'ace' aura, and die hard fans who still to this day will jump on your throat if you 'dare' criticize their queen lol I remember someone who said that even her most upbeat/positive songs (Keep tryin', COLORS, Traveling…) always had a sad & melancholic era, and I think that's the most accurate description of her music, maybe that's why I have a hard time listening to her albums bc they (beside 'ULTRA BLUE' and 'HEART STATION' which are imo her most lighthearted ones) have this very downer, softdoom vibe~

That being said, it would be ridiculous to not listen to her just bc she has pronouns anon lol It's pretty funny how some people are getting so cranky abt pronouns-having artists and boast about how refuse to entertain anything that they do....but will have issue to keep watching/listening to movies/music of predators, sex pest and convicted rapists lmao

I always got a weird vibe from Sheena Ringo and never got remotely interested in her music. The rumors about she being a closeted Japanese nationalist just bc of her NIPPON album era (where she had her audience wave Japanese imperial flags) are insane though lmao Hopefully those people have the same energy to call out Miley Cyrus for being an American Nationalist for her song "Party in the USA" where she dances before a giant American flag 🤡

I hardly listen to new Japanese artists anymore. I replied to an ask not too long ago where I professed my love for Ayumi Hamasaki (her 10 first year of career were pristine - she really should've retired at her 10 years Complete Singles best album momentum because everything after that has pretty much been trash tbh). Her album LOVEppears is probably my favorite album of all time 🥴

I'll never be over how cute she looks on "Fly High" MV (one of my favorite of her - those platform shoes + micro short + glittery sweatshirt combo will never get old / this MV is 23 years old and that outfit is still KICKIN #legendary)

Also pretty random because that's not a band that I'm checking like that, but THE ORAL CIGARETTES 'UNOFFICIAL' album is an absolute no skip banger. I hardly remember a Jrock album that got me hooked like that those last few years😳

I have so many other Japanese acts that I love it's really insane (I am more savvy of Japanese music that western one).

Soloist wise, I grew up in womanhood listening to Kana Nishino and her music is literally the soundtrack of my early 20s. We were born only a month apart and felt so connected to her and her songs. She truly has a special place in my heart. Her debut & sophomore albums 'LOVE one.' and 'to LOVE' got 20 years old me on a CHOKEHOLD! "Motto" got me crying all my tears off a dusty lmaoooo😭 it's insane how her songs matched with my life - we truly had a connection

Tomiko Van and Kana Nishino are Jpop best vocalists imo ELLEGARDEN (rip) and ART-SCHOOL are my favorite bands of all time. ASIAN KUNG FU GENERATION and UVERworld had a decent run in the 2000s. Perfume is still kicking.....but I don't really catch up with them anymore cause I've been trying to cut out secular music off my playlist